This is Not My Life
by Sky Rat
Summary: YohjixAya, KenxOmi. Yohji needs to get away...and decides to kidnap Aya while he's at it. Ken and Omi are left behind, not so sure what to make of things. Getting to know one another can be awkward. And increasingly complicated.
1. And then everyone was dead

_**Standard disclaimer: **_Weiß ain't mine. But I do own a whole bunch of rocks. Really lovely rocks. In fact, I have so many nice rocks that I'll give you some for free! Just send me a modest fee of ¥50,000 to cover shipping and handling. I accept money orders and paypal.

**--THIS IS NOT MY LIFE-- **

"And Then Everyone Was Dead"

-AYA-

I've caught myself falling into a reoccurring daydream lately. It's pretty stupid actually…but I wish it were true.

I find myself wondering if…if maybe Aya isn't the one in the coma. Maybe it was actually _me_ who got hit by the car.

Maybe I'm the one in the coma, and all this Weiß shit is just some twisted dream I'm having while lying there unconscious. God, that would be great, huh?  
I'd happily stay in this nightmare forever, if it meant that Aya was happy and well.

But even then, maybe she wouldn't be.  
I mean, look at what happened to me.  
Would I someday wake up only to find Aya all bitter and jaded?  
We were so much alike, after all.  
That would be awful. I'd rather have her unconscious and without worry than like I am now.

But that's irrelevant. It's just a stupid dream after all.  
I know it can't be real. You can't feel this kind of pain in dreams. Or are coma dreams different? If you're asleep for that long…maybe your dreams evolve. They could get progressively more realistic until you can no longer distinguish them from real life.

I bet Omi could find out about that. But I won't ask him. They'd think I was crazy.  
Not that I'm _not_. Quite frankly, I'm way past crazy. But they don't need to know that. No reason for me to shatter their little false perception of what a stoic fearless person I am. It's easy to confuse fearlessness and insanity.

Well, anyway….

I wonder if Aya dreams?  
I hope so. I know they would be pleasant. She has so many nice memories to dream about.

Maybe she's dreaming about the time our parents took us to Okinawa. Aya was so excited about that trip. It was the first time our parents could afford a big family vacation. She bought a new sundress and couldn't stop giggling about all the cute boys she'd meet on the beach. I have to admit I was a bit jealous over that. I didn't want Aya to meet cute boys and potentially get a boyfriend. If Aya got a boyfriend she'd have less time for me. I didn't want to be left alone.

I didn't exactly have a lot of friends back then…or ever, actually. I'm not an outgoing person. Aya and I did everything together, so I never made the effort to make other friends. I didn't feel a need to. Besides. The other boys my age thought I was weird for spending so much time with a girl. Sister or not.

They didn't understand at all.

They didn't know what it was like to have someone who matched your personality so perfectly. Who laughed at the same jokes, read the same books, listened to the same music, had all the same favorite things…. It was a tad eerie, actually. We should have been twins.

We lived in a small house and had to share a room. That probably forced us to get along. We shared everything…not that we had a ton of stuff to share. We had a few toys…but what we mostly owned were books.

Aya _loved_ books.

And I loved reading them to her.

I think my favorite memory is reading her 'Grimm's Fairy Tales.' It had a lot of gruesome bits, and she'd always pretend to get really scared. I knew she was just pretending though. It was actually pretty hard to scare Aya.

She'd laugh a lot too. There were lots of stories about talking sewing needles and lumps of coal. And almost every tale had a character named Hans. Aya thought this was funny, and one day she announced that she was going to marry a man named Hans. I agreed with that wholeheartedly. I mean, what were the chances that she'd find a Hans in Japan? It of course never occurred to me that she might have intended to leave the country.

Now she may never even leave the hospital.

It's not fair. She didn't deserve this.

According to the fairy tales, _I_ should be the one asleep.  
It's always the brother who gets in trouble; always the sister who saves him.  
_Always_.  
Why was it different for us?  
Life got it wrong.  
Or maybe I'm the one who got it wrong.

I think I've become a bit unhinged actually. No. Make that definitely.  
I completely lost touch with reality. A long time ago.  
I started to take those stories too seriously. They worked their way into my perception of real life.

You think I'm joking, don't you? I'm not. This is how bad it got; my train of logic went like this:

Aya wasn't in a coma. She was enchanted.

To break the spell, I had to kill the one who cast it.

Takatori.

Takatori was my very own evil stepmother/ wicked sorcerer/ greedy king/ all-around-purpose bad guy.

All I had to do was kill him. If I killed him his magic would vanish. Aya would wake up. Just like that story where the girl's brother drank from an enchanted spring and turned into a deer. As soon as the stepmother died, he turned back. He was ok. Simple, really.

So I fixated on this.

It wasn't just revenge. It was a quest.

Because the sister always saves her brother in the stories. It was time for me to return the favor.

Because I couldn't just sit back and wait. I needed to do something. Anything to save her.

I became obsessed.

Kill Takatori. Save Aya.  
Kill Takatori. Save Aya.

I did it. I killed Takatori.

Aya didn't wake up.

I should have known better than to really expect anything to change by killing him. I was perfectly aware of how skewed my logic was. But that's the thing with obsessions. They're rarely logical.

I guess there was a slight relief knowing that he couldn't hurt anyone else now, but it didn't help in dealing with Aya. Seeing her asleep hurt just as much as before. Maybe more even, because now I felt helpless. There didn't seem to be anything left I could do for her.

Well, there was still one thing.

Just as crazy as before, but at least it was something.

There were two kinds of enchantment stories in that book, after all.  
The first, as I mentioned before, requires killing the spell-caster in order to undo the magic. Which didn't work.

The second is harder. It involves a time limit, usually a long one. After all, the prince who finally saved sleeping beauty only succeeded because the hundred years were up. Her other would-be rescuers bleed to death in the thorns because they came too soon. The stories I had in mind were more of those brother/sister ones (there never seemed to be a shortage of them). Typically, they went like this: The brother(s) turned into some type of woodland animal-most popularly a bird-and the sister would live with him alone in the forest and take care of him while they tried to break the enchantment. Which almost always involved a seven-year vow of silence. There was also always a king who happened through the forest and fell deeply in love with the maiden (now I always objected to this detail, because due to the fact the sister could not talk, it meant the King was really in love with her looks.) Even though the sister would marry the king, she always refused to forsake her brother. Jealous people would accuse her of crimes but she would not speak up to defend herself. Her own life was less important than restoring her brother to normal. Yeah, I really liked the fact that she was more loyal to her brother than her husband.

So maybe I can still save her. Even if it's just by waiting.

I'm already as close to a vow of silence as I can get and still function in Weiß. After the accident, I completely withdrew and shut myself off from everything. It wasn't intentional, but I think that somewhere deep down, I was hoping it would help.

My vow-for Aya.

So now do you believe I'm frickin' nuts?

Oh well. At least it gives me something to live for.

And I'll wait.  
A year, seven, a hundred if I have to.  
Silently and alone.

It's so stupid. Who am I kidding? Everything I've fixated on is stupid.

I'm just setting myself for up disappointment. It's dangerous for me to try to live in a fairy tale.

Not nearly enough of them have happy endings, you know. That whole 'happily ever after' line is bullshit; it's the edited sugar-coated version.

More often the last sentence reads:

"And then everyone was dead."

**A/N:** For those who are interested, The title of this fic is taken from a Fastball song which reminds me of Aya. Many of the chapter titles are also Fastball songs, which remind me of the narrating character or the situation in said chapter. It's not in the least important that you know any of the songs, I just felt like acknowledging that. The title of this chapter was taken from Grimm's fairy tales, the story in particular 'Death of the Hen.' Other notes of interest will be credited in their respective chapters.


	2. Whatever gets you on

"Whatever gets you on"

-YOHJI-

I've gotten in the habit of paying close attention to the newspaper after missions. It's pretty interesting to see what part of the news actually makes it into print.

For example, the serial killer we silenced last night? Not a word. He _was_ a respected and powerful philanthropist after all. Well, when he wasn't disemboweling people that is.

But that cult that congregates around Tokyo harbor--you know, the one that claims that Tama-chan the seal is our only hope to save us from communist guerillas--all over page one. They _are_ predicting the end of the world. Now that's news.

I hope I'm not the only one out there that finds this pretty messed up.

It's funny how the older I get, the more my life seems to be nothing more that a satiric made-for-TV movie version of how things _ought_ to have turned out.

When I was a kid, I thought that was exactly what I wanted.

To live in a movie, I mean.

I will of course, be the first to admit that I was not the brightest kid around. But you have to understand where I'm coming from.

Take an only child, add the term 'latch key,' throw in negligent parents who fought a lot, shake, then stir. Hello, you are now looking at Yohji Kudoh's childhood.

Pretty sad, huh?

I was what you could call an escapist. I was obsessed with anything that was not my real life. Now, my childhood wasn't horrible or anything, just tediously boring and uneventful. And, well, a little more attention would have been nice too. Anyway, I dealt with this by watching _a lot_ of movies and TV. I read plenty of books and comics as well. Anything to add some excitement to the prospect of sitting around a locked apartment all day.

When I started going to school, one of the first things they told us was, "When you grow up, you can be _anything_ you want to be." So, at the age of five, I decided it was time to start thinking about my future. After some really serious consideration, I came up with the perfect plan. I wanted to be…_a dinosaur_! Not just any dinosaur either, I was going to be a _fire-breathing_ dinosaur. To my five-year-old mind, it seemed like a fail-safe career plan. I mean, dinosaurs are _cool_. Everyone would want to be friends with a dinosaur! I'd never have to be scared again, either. If anyone tried to hurt me I could just step on them. Or burn them to a crisp. And best of all, dinosaurs didn't need to live with their parents. Yep, being a dinosaur was definitely the life for me!

I can't remember if I'd had a specific type of dinosaur in mind. Maybe a triceratops. I always thought their horns were pretty nifty.

Now, a normal kid's parents would have explained to their child the problem with wanting to grow up to be a different species. Not to mention the even greater problem, when said species happens to be _extinct_. But my parents…well, I rather doubt that they were even listening when I told them about my great life plan. They just said, "That's nice," patted me on the head, and resumed arguing. So it was an entire year before I discovered that I was going to have to rethink my career choice.

However, about that same time I chanced to acquire a stack of _Space Ranger_ comics. They were like a divine message bestowed upon me by God. If I couldn't be a dinosaur, well then, _Space Ranger_ had the answer! I could explore the unknown! Establish colonies! Fight space aliens! Yeah, fighting aliens was even better than being a dinosaur! Dinosaurs are cool…but space heroes are cool _and_ brave.

Yep! I had it _all_ figured out.

Then one day at school my teacher asked us to write a paragraph about what we wanted to be when we grew up. I was pretty proud of my essay…until my teacher asked me to stay inside for recess to discuss my assignment. I thought that maybe she was going to congratulate me on being so ambitious to undertake such an obviously dangerous and difficult career. But no; instead she had a little heartfelt chat with me about the fact that astronauts _don't_ get to fight space aliens. Nor do they explore other planets, or establish colonies. They just go up and down and orbit the earth. I think she also threw in the fact that the government was unlikely to hire an astronaut who continually failed spelling. Lovely lady. Really.

Well, anyway, this was really upsetting news to me. It meant that I had been deceived not only by _Space Ranger_, but by _Star Trek_, and _Star Wars_ too. Just what was there left for me to believe in now?

I think that this was when my cynical streak began to develop.

So, a recognizable cycle came into play.

I wanted to be an archeologist…until I realized that their lives were nothing like _Indiana Jones_.

I wanted to be a pirate…until I found out that they didn't really exist anymore.

I wanted to be a cowboy…until someone told me that there isn't any real demand for _Japanese_ cowboys.

Was _every_ cool job ever invented already out of business? It seemed like I was doomed to a really boring life just like my parents.  
Er, _parent_.  
By this point my dad wasn't around anymore. I think he went back to the states. Or wherever the hell he originally came from.

Anyway, this is why, at the age of ten, when I announced that I was going to be a secret agent, nobody took me seriously.

Everyone said, "Oh that Yohji and his overactive imagination! It's just another phase he's going through. You'll see, someday he'll settle down and make a fine lawyer!"

But this time it wasn't a phase. There was no reason for me to give up on my dream this time. I _could_ be a secret agent. I just had to work hard enough. So I worked _damn_ hard. My grades steadily improved. I mean, cowboys and pirates don't have to be exceptionally smart, but secret agents do! I paid attention to _everything_. Who knew when some obscure fact might prove essential in solving a case? I took up running; secret agents need to be fast! I even joined my school's wilderness club. I was all about building up my survival skills. I was so happy to finally settle on a permanent goal to work for. By Jove, I was _not_ going to end up like my parents!

My entire life began to revolve around secret agent stuff. I just couldn't get enough of _James Bond_. I thought that _Mission Impossible_ rocked too.

But oddly enough, what spoke to me the most was an old and fairly obscure American Show. Have you ever seen _Get Smart_? Probably not, huh. It's not exactly well known here in Japan. I only chanced to find it because I so actively pursued all things 'secret agent.' It was a great show. Maxwell Smart was my _hero_.

Now, to anyone who has actually seen this show, that might seem sort of odd. I mean, why on earth would I like a guy like Maxwell Smart better than someone like, say, James Bond? No one's cooler than Bond, right? Well, that was part of the problem. James Bond was too perfect--too Hollywood--too well, _cool_. I didn't quite trust him. I was afraid he'd turn out as unobtainable as Space Ranger, and Indiana Jones. But Max Smart, well, he seemed like a real down to earth guy. Not particularly attractive, or especially intelligent. He was in fact pretty average. Which meant that if a guy like Max could make a good secret agent, so could I! In fact, I was pretty sure I had him beat in both looks _and_ brains, so I was all set!

More importantly, though, what really made me respect him was that Maxwell Smart _didn't_ work alone. This too may seem odd. Being able to handle anything alone is the essence of cool, and wasn't that what I wanted? It was…but that was no longer my top priority. I wanted to be cool, for sure, but what I wanted most was to not be lonely anymore. You see, I never really felt like I had anyone I could depend on growing up. I don't think that my parents had planned on having me, because I always seemed like an afterthought to them. I wanted that stability that I was always missing. I wanted someone who would be completely devoted to me. Which is exactly what Maxell Smart had. He had a partner; a beautiful, intelligent partner who was _always_ there for him.

Normal boys my age obsessed over supermodels and famous singers. Not me. I was in love with Agent 99. She seemed like the perfect woman to me. Solving mysteries, rescuing Max, it seemed like she could do _anything_. A person like 99 was exactly what I needed to fill that void in my life. Guys like Bond went through women faster than he could change his clothes. But Maxwell Smart was always true to 99. In fact, I think they even got married at the end of the series. I really respected that. It was what really drove me to look up to Max.

That, and I thought that shoe phone of his was _damn cool_.

So for a while, it seemed like everything was falling precisely into place. There wasn't exactly a large job market for secret agents, but I did manage to get myself a position as a private detective, which was more than close enough to satisfy me. And I got the partner of my dreams. Asuka was smart, beautiful, everything I had hoped to find in life. We were inseparable. I thought my life was absolutely perfect.

Maybe if I'd had more attentive parents, they would have explained to me how real life rarely turns out the way it is portrayed on TV. Of course, if I'd had more attentive parents, I doubt I would have craved that sort of lifestyle in the first place.

Well, to cut a long story short, the dream ended. My perfect life came to a heart shattering halt. Something happened that was _not_ supposed to.

Asuka _died_.

Nothing in my TV dream world had me prepared for something like that to happen. There wasn't room for it. It didn't fit into my plan! We were supposed to _always_ be together! We'd get married and teach cool secret agent stuff to our kids. She just _couldn't_ be dead.

But she was.

And for the first time in years I felt completely helpless.

I suddenly realized why Bond went through so many women. In the real world, you lose stuff. You can't have both excitement _and_ stability. If you're going to live life on the edge, then you endanger everyone around you. It's really best not to get attached.

And after losing Asuka, I no longer wanted to get attached.

I decided I'd never depend on anyone but myself ever again.

I used to be such a romantic idealist. I wonder if I killed that part of me, or if it's just buried somewhere beneath all the cynicism. I hope it's still there somewhere. I like to think that someday I'll be able to come to terms with everything that's happened and go back to how I was. I know that I can never go all the way back, but I don't want to stay they person I am now. I don't like what I've become.

I drink too much. Smoke too much. Trust too little. I'm numb. I don't let myself feel anymore. I still crave that stability I lost, but I'm too scared to find it for real. So I find a different girl every night. It helps maintain the numbness. I hate that about myself. It isn't me at all. I've tried so many times to stop going out and stop chasing girls. But I can't do it. I get way too depressed when I'm alone. Better numb than depressed.

I guess I'm prone to bad habits.

I've been thinking a lot lately. I think that I'm teetering on a rather dangerous edge right now. I've noticed that I'm starting to become dependant on people again. Well, not exactly _dependant_…just too close to my other team members for comfort. I'm going to have to make a decision.

I could try digging out my old self. Give in and really trust someone again.  
Or I could sever everything, and keep myself numb and safe.  
One option's scary, the other depressing.

I really want to choose the first one. I just don't know if I have it in me. I don't know if I've picked the right people to trust. I don't know if I can really consider Weiß as my friends. I'm not very good at evaluating that sort of thing. When I couldn't even trust my own parents…well, who should I?

Maybe I can run some sort of test.  
Find out if I have real friends or not.  
Find out if the real me still exists.

I don't know what I'll do, but I feel compelled to do _something_. I can't stay in this nether region I've been hiding in.

Yes, I've made up my mind.  
I'm going to pull something drastic.  
I just haven't figured out what yet.


	3. They made up their minds, and they start...

"They made up their minds, and they started packing"

-AYA-

Yohji's up to something.

Wait. Maybe I shouldn't jump to conclusions. It's not fair of me to automatically assume the worst of Yohji. I should first investigate all possible alternatives.

So I take a long hard look out the window.

I'm pretty sure Hell has not frozen over yet.

Yep. Yohji's definitely up to something.

How can I be so certain of this?

Because it's 8:00 am. And Yohji's _awake_. He's not just awake, either, he's actually _perky_. Even when Yohji's scheduled for morning shifts, he always makes a point of oversleeping _at least_ until 10. And perky? That word has never applied to him at any point in earlier than 2 pm. No-wait. There was that one time he drank eight cups of expresso...damnit. I had just succeeded in repressing that memory. Brrr.

I wonder what the cretin is up to?

He obviously thinks that being up this early is somehow going to work to his benefit. Maybe it's part of a complex plot to ensnare some bimbo he met last night. Of course, it is equally likely to be a not-so-complex plot to _ditch_ some bimbo he met last night. With Yohji, the only set probability, is that it involves a bimbo. The womanizing asshole.

You know, I should be grateful to Yohji.

He's the one person who gives me a reason to be glad that Aya's in the hospital. I mean, if I knew that Aya and Yohji were both walking around the same city-and had the potential to actually run into one another-crap, I'd lose the ability to sleep at night.  
See? I _can_ be an optimist.

Anyway, I'm not going to acknowledge my curiosity towards his appearance. He'd just feed off the attention.

In fact, I don't even bother to look at him. I just silently hand him a list of arrangements that need to get started, and continue my futile struggle in balancing the books.

The figures simply _will not_ add up. And I know why, too. Yohji has unquestionably been giving away too many flowers to too many girls. Damnit, doesn't he realize how much extra work that causes me? Not to mention the lost profits...Idiot.

I'd hate him, but I think he'd enjoy it.

He's like a four-year-old. Thriving on any sort of attention he can get. Positive _or_ negative.

So I'm sitting here, not-hating-him and trying to physically injure him via evil glares.

It reminds me of this book I read Aya a really long time ago.

It was about a neglected little girl who could harness her pent-up mental frustration and use it to shoot energy out of her eyes. She learned how to move things just by _looking_ at them. I guess that would make her...telekinetic? Anyway, Aya and I always wanted to be able to do that. But we never even tried. For one, we were far too happy for it to have worked. The girl in the book could only do it when she was miserable and angry. Besides, it was just a children's book, right? That's what I thought back then. After running into Schwartz, I'm no longer so certain about that. I've seen too much weird shit these last few years to take anything for granted.

I almost believe that if I try hard enough, I can pull it off.

So I've been practicing.

I've heard the others comment behind my back about my 'death glare.' That shows how much they know. I've never once wished any of them dead, not even that ass, Kudoh. I just enjoy mentally kicking him. And I have a lot more than just one glare, too. Right now, I'm using my will-Yohji-to-trip-over-something-and-fall-on-his-ass glare. That's one of my favorites. I also have a make-Yohji-drop-a-flowerpot-on-his-foot glare, a make-Yohji-walk-into-Ken's-hose glare, and the all-time classic, hope-Yohji-will-make-a-fool-of-himself-in-front-of-the-girls glare. Pity none of them work yet. So far my only successful glare is the make-Ken-shut-up one. That hardly requires telekinetic prowess though. I can get Ken to lose his train of thought just by glancing at him. He's a little too easily intimidated, I'd say.

I don't think I have an Omi glare. Not yet, anyway.

Yohji suddenly turns around and catches the look I've been shooting at him. And you know what he does? He _smiles_. The _nerve_ of him! Has he somehow managed to build up a complete immunity to bad karma?

And now he's walking over towards me! I try glaring at him to keep him away, but it doesn't work. I really need to practice harder.

He stops a few feet in front of me and looks me right in the eye.  
"I need your help with a delivery," he says to me.

Holy shit. He's actually thinking about work?! I wonder if he injured his head during the last mission.

"You don't usually need help with the deliveries," I reply suspiciously.

"We have an order to supply a party. It's more than I can handle by myself."

He waves an order form in front of my face. It seems to check out.

Hmm...I just can't shake the feeling that something's up. But I have no reason not to believe him, so I pull off my apron and reach for my keys.

"Wait. I'll drive," he says, putting his hand in the way of my path. I give him an even more suspicious look.

"They'll fit in my car better," he explains.

I shrug, and follow him to the back room to pick up the flowers. Amazingly, he's already finished all of the arrangements.

"Poppies," he says, stating the obvious. Yes, Yohji, I do believe that after two years in a flower shop I can recognize a poppy.

"They're fragile, so I need you to hold them and prevent them from jostling in the car."

Right, right. I can see that on my own. What's with the unnecessary explanations? He can't actually think that I wouldn't have known all that.

Hmn. Poppies really annoy me. They practically disintegrate at the slightest touch. Not a good choice at all for arrangements. And for a party? What were they thinking? Somebody obviously wasn't.  
If I'd been the one taking the order, I would have advised them to switch to something sturdier...like carnations.  
Leave it to idiot Kudoh.

Ah well. The damage has already been done. Nothing to do but make the delivery.

I barely have the first arrangement in my hands before Yohji has swooped in and grabbed the other four bunches. He cheerfully strides past me, bantering all the way to the car.

Wait...he just needed me to carry _one_ bouquet?!

Hmm...

An alarm in my head is sounding as I follow him out of the shop.  
I guess I'll just have to wait and see.

The ride takes a lot longer than I expect. Apparently this 'party' is right on the very edge of town...the wrong edge of town. This neighborhood seems a bit...sketchy.

Not a place one would expect to find a party requiring flowers. Maybe someone died, I think grimly.

Yohji pulls the car in front of a dilapidated house with the most atrocious paint job I have ever laid eyes on. Seriously. This place is neon aquamarine with sunshine yellow trim. I can just imagine my high school art teacher having a heart attack on sight.  
Such dignified flowers do not deserve to end their lives in a place like this. I'm half tempted to tell Yohji to turn around because the poppies will not be happy here. But I stay silent in favor of maintaining my illusion of sanity.

I sadly inspect the crepe-like red and orange blossoms. I did a good job of holding them, not a single petal was lost. Oh well, maybe the people here are actually nice. I shouldn't judge places by their appearance.

Wait-scratch that.

The door has just opened to reveal its tenant. She's an even bigger piece of work than the house. Fluorescent pink hair plus fur coat plus hot pants over fishnets: not a formula that usually adds up to 'nice thoughtful person.' Well, not in my experience. I expect Yohji would argue with me on that one-so I won't bring it up.

She's just leaning against the door frame and toying with a pack of cigarettes. Her expression is one of such complete and utter boredom that I highly doubt that there's any brain activity going on in there at all.

When we step out of the car, there is such an immediate change in her mannerism, that for a second I actually believe that she might be a person who genuinely appreciates the virtues of flowers. Then reality sets in and I realize that her excitement was due to the flower's _delivery_, and not the actual flowers themselves. More specifically, she lit up on sight of Yohji.

It figures. She _does_ seem his type.

Yohji's type being anything female that moves. He does have that whole speech about 'only being interested in girls over 18,' but I think it's mainly for show. I rather doubt he's actually that choosy.

"Yooooohjiiii!"

My thoughts are disrupted by the agonizingly syrupy voice of Miss Skank-whore.

Yohji shifts the bouquets around, freeing up a hand so that he can dramatically drape it around her neck.

"Ame!" he cries, "You are looking positively _stunning_ this morning! But then, you always do, my bea-u-ti-ful Ame!"

I'm fighting back the urge to lose my breakfast.

Yohji removes his arm so that he can make a swooping bow as he presents the bouquets.

"Your flowers, my fair lady."

She giggles and reaches for the offering.

"Oh Yohji! They're lovely! I always did love tulips!"

I give Yohji an incredulous look.

He coughs. "They're...uh, poppies...actually."

Miss Skank-whore -or should I say _Ame_-furrows her brow in apparently deep thought. I can practically see the hamster wheel in her head slowing down, as she tries to remember what a 'poppy' is.

"Right..." she mumbles doubtfully, "That's right...I ordered..._poppies_..."  
She still looks a bit confused.

"Well, anyway," she adds hopefully, "you _are_ going to stay for the party, aren't you Yohji love?"

Ah, it all makes sense now. The flowers served no purpose other then to lure Yohji to the party. Damn, and I thought those giggling schoolgirls were pathetic.

I open my mouth with the intent to announce that Yohji has to work, but the strangest thing happens.

Yohji actually beats me to it!

"Alas! Although it breaks my heart to do so, I am afraid I must decline your kind invitation!" he says, _almost_ sincerely. "There's simply too many orders awaiting me at work."

"But _Yoh-jiiiii_," she pouts, "it's hardly worth having a party, if you won't be there!"

"I know, and it truly injures me to do this to you," he continues, "but I really can't get off today."

He leans in closer to her ear, and touches her chin. "But don't you worry, we can have a _private_ party later on to make it up. Just the two of us."

Ugh. Now I seriously am nauseous. Is Yohji for real?

Miss Skank-whore giggles and attempts to pull a menacing look.

"I'm gonna hold you to that, mister," she says, finger pointing at Yohji's nose.

"I wouldn't dream of disappointing you," he replies, making another theatrical bow before waving and hopping in the car.

I have the decency to wait until both doors are shut before insulting him.

"You don't seriously talk to _all_ girls like that, do you?"

"Like what?" he asks, innocently.

"Like you just fell out of the seventeenth century, and landed on your head."

"They like it when you talk like that. They think it's romantic."

"Oh, give me a break." I say, indignantly, "No intelligent girl would seriously fall for that."

"Intelligent girls want commitment," Yohji states, as if this were a glaringly obvious point, which he was disappointed in me for overlooking.

"Oh that's right," I mumble, "I forgot for a second who I was talking too."

Instead of replying, he just gives me a skeptical 'who are you to judge' look. Oh please.

Silence resumes for a couple of minutes, until my curiosity begins to get the better of me.

"Sooo..." I begin, "Are you actually going to see her again?"

"I don't know..." he pauses for a second, apparently lost in thought, "It depends, really..."

"Depends on what?" I hear myself wonder aloud. Why am I asking? I don't actually care...

"Oh, it's not important," he replies, looking a little bit wistful.

Strange. Yohji is definitely acting very un-Yohji-like. Normally he would have seized the opportunity to make me uncomfortable by explicitly describing all the things he had planned to do with his date. I hope this lasts a while. A quiet and un-cocky Yohji is certainly an improvement.

The conversation dropped, I take a moment to glance out the window. Waaaaaiiit a minute...something is _very_ wrong here. The mountains are looking _a lot_ closer than they ought to...and where are all the buildings? We aren't heading back into the city at all! What's Yohji up to?!

"Why are we leaving the city?!" I demand.

"I need a vacation," he answers, very matter-of-factly.

"What?!"

"I want to see the country," he continues, "I need a reminder of why it's worth doing what we do."

"So you planned to just take off in the middle of a work day, with no hint of where you've gone?!"

"Yep."

"And just when did you plan on taking me home?" I ask, accusingly.

"Actually, I was hoping for some company," he casually states.

"Stop the car."

He slows down and pulls off to the shoulder of the road. I begin reaching for the door handle.

"You're free to go," he says, nervously tapping the steering wheel with his fingers, "but if you do...I might not come back."

"What? Is that some sort of threat?!" Despite my low opinion of him, I had not expected he would stoop to such childish levels.

"No," he answers, "I'm just really tired of everything...I expect...that it will be too hard to come back...without a reason to."

"So don't leave," I mumble, closing my grip around the handle.

"I have to," he says, "I know I'll do something stupid if I don't get away for a while. I'm afraid I'll end up hurting Weiß."

I'm willing my hand to open the door, but it won't obey me. It just stays stupidly suspended on the handle.

Seconds turn into minutes. I don't know how long I sit there gripping the handle. Maybe five minutes, maybe twenty. I don't understand why I can't seem to open the door.

I finally give up and release my grip.

"I'm not staying," I clarify to him, "I just won't go quite yet."

Visible relief washes over him.

"You have to let me out the second I ask though," I add, "because I'm leaving soon. Very soon."

"As you wish," he cheerfully replies.

Another twenty minutes or so of silence slides by, before something occurs to me.

"Why me?" I ask.

He seems surprised that I would ask this.

"You were the unhappiest."


	4. Step right up and take a nowhere ride

"Step right up and take a nowhere ride"

-YOHJI-

Oh. My. God.

What the hell did I just do?  
I kidnapped Aya!  
_Aya_! Aya freakin' _Fujimiya_!!  
What was I thinking?!  
I wasn't thinking! I just….did it.  
Er…actually I didn't 'just do it'…it _was_ sort of premeditated…but I still wasn't thinking!

Oh my god.

Why am I still alive right now? What I just did was suicide!  
He should have killed me…why didn't he kill me?

I can't believe I just did that.

And…the world must be about to end or something, because he's actually _letting_ me.  
Well sort of…he's letting me for now.  
Never in a million years would I have expected him to even last these past twenty minutes. Dang.  
I _still_ can't believe I just did that!

Oh, and it gets better! Now he's _talking_ to me!  
He wants to know why I chose him…that's a good question, actually.  
Why did I?  
I'm not entirely sure…he just seemed…the obvious choice.  
No wait—Ken would have been the obvious choice. Ken already tried to leave once; it would have made the most sense to include him in my escape.  
But _I'm_ the one who stopped him…I think….Ken would be indignant about that. He would probably refuse just on principle. And he's stubborn…once he decided not to come he wouldn't have backed down. No, Ken certainly would not have stayed.

Then there's Omi--Omi would have felt too guilty about leaving.  
He worries about responsibilities…not to mention he has school to deal with.  
Omi would not have come, even if he wanted to. He's too responsible.

But Aya…Aya's pretty selfish. He only seems to care about Weiß because it serves him a purpose. I'm sure that he would disregard 'responsibility' if he felt that doing so would benefit him.  
So Aya staying actually _means_ something.  
He cares. Just sticking around for even twenty minutes means that on some level, even if only a deep subconscious one, Aya _cares_.

I wanted to find out if I had any sort of real friends.  
Well, Aya was the ultimate test.  
And he just passed the first level!  
I'm feeling pretty frickin' good right now. Maybe this scheme of mine is not so crazy as I thought.

A glance in his direction reveals that Aya's looking fairly irked. He's always so unhappy... He doesn't even attempt with the cheerful front the rest of us use. He needs to get away more than I do.  
Maybe I can help him. I'd like to get him to loosen up a bit.

The speedometer's needle is steadily climbing. I'm a good thirty km over the speed limit already, but I can't help it. I feel more carefree than I have in years. Like nothing can touch me. It's like a throwback to my 'cowboy stage.'  
I just want to ride and ride off into the sunset. Never really going anywhere in particular...  
I wish I'd brought my cowboy hat.  
Heh. I feel like singing.  
Without really considering the consequences, I dive right into the second verse of 'Don't Fence Me In.' Yeah, I know that this is just asking to annoy Aya and make him rethink his silent decision to stay...but I can't help it!  
I feel like a hyperactive little kid again. I already discarded my self control when I started this, might as well go all out, eh? Besides the silence between us is getting creepy. Aside from his brief question, Aya hasn't said a word. Nothing! Isn't he even curious about where we're going?! I wish I knew what was going on in that head of his! That's something I'll probably never figure out, though. I can't help feeling a bit sad about that, too. I mean, he's always _so_ depressed! I can't help but feel empathetic towards the guy, but you can't help someone who won't tell you what's wrong! Grr, he has such a frustrating personality... Ah jeeze, I'm already starting to drag down my good mood just _thinking_ about Aya. Better do something to remedy that.

Aya's still looking grim, no real reaction to the singing.  
I think I'll push my luck a little farther...  
I give him a nudge in the arm.

"C'mon Aya, sing along!"

I'm not actually expecting him to comply, but I can't resist teasing him. Old habits die hard.  
He responds with the expected glower of resentment, but for the briefest moment, another emotion flashes across his face. It looked like...fear?  
Aya finds the concept of cutting loose and singing _scary_?  
Sure, I expected he'd regard it as beneath him, but _frightening_?  
This guy needs my help more than I thought!

I nudge him again

"Come on Aya, it's the perfect road song! _Just turn me loose! Let me straddle my old saddle underneath the western skyyyyy--. On my cay—use! Let me--_"

The glowering look deepens.  
"I don't know the words."

"Oh, okay then," I continue to egg him on, "how about 'Rawhide' then? Everyone knows 'Rawhide,' right? _Rolling roll--_"

"I don't know that one either," he interjects.

Okay, I'm going for broke!  
"'The Good the Bad, and the Ugly?'" I ask hopefully, "No words to that one! Just whistle! Here, I'll teach you!"

Aya doesn't even bother with a verbal refute. He just grimly shakes his head.

"Ah, geeze" I pout, "didn't you watch _any_ cowboy movies as a kid?!"

"No."

"Really? None at all?"

He just shakes his head again.

"Well then," I ask, with genuine curiosity, "what _did_ you watch?"

"Nothing."

"What? What do you mean 'nothing'?"

"We didn't have a TV," he states, not betraying the slightest hint that this might be even remotely out of the ordinary.

Woah. Aya is more repressed then I'd ever suspected!

"Seriously?" I've never met anyone who grew up without a TV before, "Were you poor?"

"Of course not!" he snaps indignantly, "We didn't want one. We had better things to do."

"Like what?"

"We read. Books."

"Well yeah, so did I...but still. You can't just read books _all the time_. What else did you do?"

Oi. I guess I pushed him too far with that question. His eyes narrow slightly, but not in anger. He looks pained. He turns away from me and feigns interest in the passing telephone poles. Christ. He's probably counting them to keep from betraying his emotions any further. Damn him.

looooong uncomfortable silence...

Well, at least I didn't scare him out of the car yet. Maybe I can cheer him up a bit by getting him to talk about something else.

"Soooo…do you wanna know where we're going?"

Aya gives a halfhearted shrug and makes one of his non-committal 'hn' noises. I can't for the life of me tell if that was a grunt of affirmation, or an 'I don't give a shit' noise. Well tough luck if that's the case cause I'm gonna tell him whether he cares or not.

"I want to see as much of the country as I can." I start, "I figured we'd start by heading south. Kyoto is my main goal, but I want to make some stops at small towns along the way. I figure, if you want to get the feel for the country, Kyoto's the place to go, you know? So we'll hit that first…. Then spend some time in Osaka…keep going south, stopping anywhere interesting we can think of—like Beppu—always wanted to see the 'boiling hells' you know….Anyway, no looking back until there's nothing ahead but water—to the very tip of Kyushu. Maybe--maybe I won't even stop then. We could even take a ferry to Okinawa if we wanted…."

Woah. That sure got his attention. Aya snaps his head around and glares at me.

"Not Okinawa," he growls, "not…that I'll stay that long anyway…but…I won't go to Okinawa."

I know the tone in Aya's voice better than to ask him what he's got against Okinawa. I'm sure tempted though. But my mission here is to cheer Aya up, not chase him out of the car.

"No problem, we'll skip Okinawa. I burn too easily anyway."

Well, it's a given to say that I was hardly expecting a response of, "Thanks Yohji! That's really considerate of you to change your plan for me!" but, come on, couldn't he at least acknowledge that he heard me?!

Maybe I should have at least _tried_ to get Ken to come. At least with Ken I wouldn't be feeling like I was talking to myself right now.

Sigh.

"Okay, okay—so we'll turn around in Kyushu, and go back north. But we'll go _all_ the way north, not just back to Tokyo, alright? I want to see Hokkaido too."

_Nothing_. I'm starting to wonder if Aya fell asleep with his eyes open….

"So…er, yeah…It'll be really fun! We can even stop and…have a Sapporo _in_ Sapporo!"

Yeah, yeah, I know that was really lame. But cut me some slack here! Do you have any idea how hard it is to be funny when your only audience is a guy like _Aya_?! I swear, I bet he can break glass with that stare of his….

Never let it be said that Yohji Kudoh was a quitter though. I'm not giving up till he talks to me.

"Hey! I've got an idea! We'll have to make sure to try the local specialties as we go, right? We'll have Okonomiyaki in Kyoto, and Osaka's famous for takoyaki—why don't we go to all the places that specialize in _yaki_ foods! It'll be like a scavenger hunt, no?"

_Silence_.

"Do you know where to go for the best teriyaki?"

Ha. Like I was expecting an answer.

"Or sukiyaki? We'll have to make sure to get some sukiyaki."

Oh, he's _so_ asking for it.

"And yakitori too!"

"And yakisoba!"

"Yakiniku!"

"Yakidofu!"

"Nabeyaki udon!"

"Teppanyaki!"

"Yakimeishi!"

"Tamago yaki!"

"Shioyaki!"

"Yaki—er, yaki—"

Damn! I can't think of any more. Oh wait! There's still—

"Yaki onigiri!" I conclude with some satisfaction. Well, I would have been _more_ satisfied if I had gotten Aya to actually respond. But hey, you win some you lose some.

"I always liked _yakiimo_."

Barely spoken above a whisper, and yet the car actually swerves because I'm so surprised to hear Aya's voice.

"Yakiimo!! How could I forget?! I wasn't even _thinking_ about dessert foods!" I cry in mock dismay, "Got me there, Aya. We'll make sure to stop, and I'll buy you a _whole plate_ of yakiimo!"

If Aya were a normal person, he would have been smiling.  
But Aya's _not_ a normal person, and so the expression on his face could only be described as…well, _less depressed_.

But for Aya, that's worlds of a difference.

**A/N:** "Yaki" simply means 'grilled'. So Yohji was just rambling off a long list of various foods with grilled components. _yakisoba_ is grilled soba noodles, _yakiniku_, grilled meat, etc. _yakiimo_ is a cinnamon flavored sweet potato cake.

Sapporo is a city in Hokkaido, as well as a brand of beer (made in that city)


	5. The children woke up, and they couldn't ...

"The children woke up, and they couldn't find them"

-KEN-

BAM! BAM! BAM!

Agh. I swear, my stupid alarm clock somehow manages to get louder every morning.  
My hand reaches out blindly in attempt to shut the blasted thing off. I wish I could kill whoever invented alarm clocks.  
Too bad they're probably already dead.  
On the other hand, whoever invented the sleep button was friggin' brilliant.  
My hand automatically slams down upon the aforementioned blessed button.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

Crap! Why the #¢&# isn't the noise stopping?!

A/N: No, that's _not_ censored. Ken is in fact, actually thinking "#¢&#"

Oh wait.

That's right. I didn't set my alarm last night.  
...I don't have morning shift today...

Oooh...whoever is making that noise is gonna die.

It's an easy guess to who it is, too.

"HELL NO AYA! I'M _NOT_ GETTING UP."

BAM! BAM! BAM!

"There had BETTER be a five-alarm fire going on out there!"

Ah, shit. Now the door's starting to open. I really need to remember to start locking that.  
My first instinct is to hide under the covers and ignore the intruder...but I'm pretty awake right now-not to mention pissed off-so I decide it will be far more fun to react with violence.

I grab my soccer ball up off the floor, and sit up with it balanced over my head; poised to throw at my disturber.  
I see a flash of blond hair.  
Ah ha! So Yohji's the culprit!  
Well, I certainly won't feel bad about knocking _him_ in the head with a soccer ball! Heh heh.

"Die, you bastard destroyer of sleep!"

And without another thought, I let the ball fly at my adversary.

Now, I didn't _actually_ intend to nail Yohji in the head. I was really aiming for his chest. But by some unexplained phenomena, Yohji seemed, well, _shorter_ today.

He lets out a muffled cry that sounds very un-Yohji-like...  
And I finally get a good look at my intruder (as he slumps to the floor)...who is most certainly _not_ Yohji.

Oops.

AH CRAP! I just decked Omi in the head!

"Ah! Omi! I'm so sorry! I thought you were Yohji! I didn't mean-"

He's not responding! Could I have hit him harder than I thought? Maybe he has a concussion! Shit!

I kneel down next to him and just barely catch myself before succumbing to my instinct to violently shake him (and thus cinching the possibility of a concussion.)

"Speak to me Omi! Don't fall asleep! Can ya hear me, Omi?!"

Suddenly he snaps out of his stupor...and starts to shake.  
Shit!! I'm such a jerk!

"Oh, Omi! I'm sooo sorry! I really didn't mean to hit you! I wouldn't have thrown it if-"

"They're gone."

"They're...eh?"

"They're gone."

"What? You mean you're not upset cause I hit you?"

"You, um...hit me?"

He seems confused. And he didn't even notice my soccer ball arsenal! Wow, I've never seen Omi this..._out of it_. Hey, wait a minute-

"What do you mean 'they're gone'?"

"Aya kun. And. Yohji kun. Are. Gone."

"What?!"

"The shop is closed, and Yohji kun's car is gone."

"Maybe they're making a delivery?" I suggest hopefully.

"I've been waiting for two hours. If they had that big of a job they would have woken one of us up to cover for them."

"Uh...maybe they got stuck in traffic or something?"

"Aya kun still would have called and asked us to cover!"

I try to think up another logical explanation, but I'm drawing a blank. But hey, cut me some slack here, it's like the break of dawn!

Ok. So it's actually eleven a.m.

I don't like thinking before lunchtime.

Omi is slowly shaking his head. It looks like he's trying to hold back tears...wait-tears?! Omi, crying? Yeeesh...this is really starting to unsettle me. I've only ever seen Omi cry once, and that was right after that mess with his brothers and Ouka...and even under those circumstances it was weird to see Omi break down...

Omi plus tears equal something really bad happened.

Assumption: really bad thing equals ( Aya plus Yohji ) equals gone.

Aya equal X, Yohji equals Y, Gone equals N.

( X equals N ) equals less than probable; ( Y equals N ) equals less than or equal to probable.

X allowing ( Y equals N ) equals less than probable.

Therefore ( X plus Y ) equals N is unequal to probable.

Conclusion: Aya and Yohji can't be gone.

Conundrum: Omi wouldn't cry if Aya and Yohji weren't gone.

Revised conclusion: I suck at math.

I put my hand on Omi's shoulder in a lame attempt to calm him down.

"Listen Omi, I'm sure they'll show up soon, and we'll all laugh when we find out what stupid errand they got sucked into."

He's still shaking his head though.

"No Ken kun. I have a really bad feeling about this." A brief pause, where Omi casually rubs his eye, trying not to draw my attention to the brimming wetness. "I don't think they're planning on coming back."

He's doing a good job acting calm. But I can still catch the slight waver in his soft voice.

"...At least Yohji kun isn't..." he adds, "his room is cleaner than I've ever seen it before. Like he doesn't plan on using it for a long time."

I'm gonna make one last ditch effort at optimism.

"Maybe Aya yelled at him for being a slob."

Yeah right. Yohji bending to Aya's nagging...I didn't even succeed at convincing _myself_ with that one.

Another gloomy shake.

"No. He took his picture of Asuka with him."

Woah. Now _that_ gets my attention.

"What picture of Asuka?! _I've_ never seen a picture of Asuka around!"

Omi scrunches up his eyes and I can almost hear him mentally slapping himself. Methinks he hadn't intended to divulge that tidbit of incriminating knowledge.

"Um...that's because he keeps it in his drawer. I, uh...don't think Aya kun knew about it either."

Oh ho. Now _that's_ certainly interesting. So Omi has some sort of intimate knowledge of the contents of Yohji's room, eh? Hmm... I momentarily forget that I'm trying to be tactful and reassuring.

"Mmm...so just what brings you this privileged enlightenment on the constituents of Yohji's drawers?"

He he. 'Yohji's drawers.' Did that ever sound wrong.

Omi's cheeks go from pink to crimson.

"Hey! Don't make it sound so scandalous!" Omi scowls, "I was just doing some laundry, ok? And I found one of his shirts mixed in with mine, and it was his favorite shirt, too, you know, so I knew he'd want it right away, so I took it to his room-but he wasn't there-so I decided to put it away for him and his dresser was open so I-"

I wonder if Omi is aware that he has a habit of nervously tapping his pointer fingers together whenever he's lying? Sadly, now is not an appropriate time to tease him mercilessly. I'll have to file these details away for later though...

"Calm down Omi, it's okay. I understand, all right?"

Omi slumps forward and buries his face in his arms. I've never seen him look this...dejected before. It's bizarre. Omi is always so bright and exuberant... There doesn't seen room in my mental characterization of him for this depressed side he's revealing. Omi has always been Weiß's pillar of moral support. How the heck do you cheer up the person who cheers everyone else up?

I think the gods of reason decided to take pity on me, because I was suddenly granted an uncharacteristically logical stint of clear thinking.

"So, there was no note or instructions left behind by them?" I ask.

"Nope. Nothing." Omi replies, his voice dripping with gloom.

"Well, don't you think they would have left something if they weren't planning on coming back?"

"Who knows" mutters Omi. "Maybe they were afraid of being traced."

"No, look. Aya would never desert his sister. I'll call the hospital and then Sakura. If he didn't contact either of them about his sister, then that means that not only is he coming back, but he doesn't expect to be gone for long either."

Omi brightens a little. "Yeah, you're right."

"Of course I'm right. When was I ever wrong?"

Omi opens his mouth, probably with the intention of giving me the exact date and time of day of my most recent screw-up (or even a list of the past ten or so), but I clamp my hand over his mouth before he gets the chance.

"Uh-uh. That question was rhetorical. Answering it will completely disintegrate what remains of the thin illusion that is my self-esteem."

Omi manages a weak smile as he follows me down the stairs and into the kitchen.

I pull the phone book out from its usual place of repose and start flipping through the pages.

"What was the name of Aya's hospital again? 'Super Taxi?'"

Omi lets out a snort and then dramatically bangs his head against the table. I don't give him a chance to answer.

"Oh, no. It was 'Flying Carpet' hospital, wasn't it?"

The banging ceases in favor of muffled giggles. "You are such a dork, Ken kun."

"Well, every gang requires a 'token dork'," I reply, "and the three of you are too cool for that, which just leaves-"

The all-too-brief smile instantly drops off Omi's face with the mention of 'the three of you.'

Rats. I was so close to cheering him up, too.

"Just hang in there, Omi, I'm dialing the hospital now."

….

Five minutes and two phone calls later we have established that Aya made no special arrangements regarding his sister. While this was enough to give me peace of mind, Omi still doesn't seem completely convinced of our co-worker's intentions to return. I don't really have any doubts though. I mean, it's not like when I tried to leave. I was totally infatuated with Yuriko, and I was leaving for her, not for myself. And in the end, it was for her that I stayed. Aya and Yohji can't be following anyone. All of Aya's ties are still here. And I don't think Yohji even has anyone at all...unless...

...Hey...I wonder if Aya and Yohji had secret girlfriends?!

Nah. As if Yohji could keep a girl a secret. He'd be showing her off the first moment he got the chance. And I just can't imagine Aya ditching his sister for another girl...  
Heh. Sometimes I really let my imagination get carried away...

But that's not important right now. Well no, Aya and Yohji's disappearance _is_ important...but Omi is the more urgent issue. Nothing to do but wait for Aya and Yoj' to call or return. But Omi spazing out isn't going to make that happen any quicker. So my first call of action is to get Omi back to his normal ol' genki self...

And I have just thought of a brilliantly irresponsible way to accomplish that! Heh heh...

"Hey, Omittchi! You know what no Aya and no Yohji means, don'tcha?"

"Near certain death on our next mission, and a pissed off Manx?" he sniffs.

"Ah, cut the dramatics!" I pout, "It means no one to get mad at us when we ditch work today!"

"Which is what we're gonna do." I add, nudging him in the arm. "You like arcades, right?"

Finally! The first hint of a genuine smile all day!

"Yeah," he answers softly, "I like arcades."


	6. Just something I like to think about

"Just something I like to think about at night…."

-OMI-

I've gotta stop staring at the clock like this. My eyes have been riveted to it for the past hour and a half. And each round the second hand makes seems to go slower than the trip before.

I try reading the newspaper. I flip through my physics book. I even re-arrange the inside of the fridge.  
Nothing I do is able to distract me from the slow ticking that echoes through the room.

For the first half hour I'm _almost_ able to convince myself that they're just out on a regular errand. But really, I think that deep down I knew from the second I woke up that they weren't coming back. When life throws as much crap at you as mine has, you get a good sense for feeling when something bad's about to happen. I get the feeling a lot. It's usually right.

Don't think I'm complaining or anything. I've gotten pretty used to it. Really. Getting injured on a weekly basis? No sweat. Missing so much school that it's a miracle they still let me come? Whatever. Knowing that my education is essentially pointless because I'll almost certainly die before I can graduate? I stopped caring about that years ago.

I've learned to roll with the punches. That's me; the adaptable Omi.

So why am I on the verge of flipping out _now_? This shouldn't faze me any more than the next bad thing, right? Well, it seems the more numb I get to regular pain, the worse it hurts when that pain is related to losing people. It's my worst fear. And the one that most often fulfills itself. You'd think by the sheer quantity of people I've lost, I'd start getting used to it? I mean, bullet wounds have become so old hat, I don't even flinch anymore. Why does this have to be different? It is though. It gets worse with each one. I guess its cause the less people I have in my life, the more attached I get to those who're left.

And it was down to three.

Only three people to care about.

Out of a planet with six billion people on it.

Just _three_.

And now that numbers down by two.

It's the beginning of the end.

It's probably just a matter of days now before I'm completely alone.  
I'm not going to try to fool myself into believing that Ken will stick around. It's no secret that he wants out of Weiß. He already tried to leave. He had a _plane ticket_. He was packed for chrissakes!  
What got him to stay?  
_Yohji!_  
He stayed for frickin' Yohji!!  
Did he even think of me for a second during that whole ordeal? Ha. Fat chance.  
I wonder if he thought of Aya?  
Well, Aya's gone. _Yohji's_ gone.  
I can as good as write Ken off as gone too.  
I wonder if he'll take off immediately, or linger a few days out of guilt?

God, this sucks.

I wonder if they'll keep sending me out on missions all by myself?  
A very small part of me hopes they do. It's not very likely I'd last long without backup.  
It's a wonder I don't outright want to kill myself.

Strangely enough, I actually don't.

If I hadn't been pounded through so much shit in my life, I suspect I would have turned out like one of those sickeningly optimistic people. I seem to have a lot of innate hope built into my character. Most of it's been carved away over the years, but there's still a little left. Just enough to let me believe that if I live long enough to leave Kritiker, I might just be able to do something really good; start balancing the karma scale a little. I don't want to die having done nothing but hurt people. Sure, I know I'm too far gone to really amend everything I've done…but to die without even trying? That's the most selfish act I can think of.

So yeah, suicide's never really been an option to me. Of course, that doesn't mean I haven't _thought_ about it. I've thought about it plenty. It's really not possible to live like this and never think of it at all. I don't doubt for a second the probability that it's occurred to the others. I think the suicide rate inside Kritiker is something like thirty or forty percent. Some depressingly high number like that. It's not surprising. This sort of work really wears on your conscience. To get through it you have to be either really strong…or just plain evil. Kritiker's got its share of both.

One thing I always wonder about though, is the utter lack of creativity in the suicidal ones. They almost _all_ do it the same way. Slit wrists. Gunshot through the mouth. A few of the braver ones choose seppuku. But that's it. No greater variety. They seem to think that the bloodier their death, the better. As if they weren't drenched in enough blood in life. Don't they ever consider the people who'll have to find them? Who wants to walk into a bathroom and find their friend/coworker's brains splattered across the wall? Or their corpse floating in a crimson stained bathtub? I know a kid at school, who's dad killed himself. He went to his secret girlfriend's apartment, and shot himself in her bedroom. Now she has to move because she has a nervous breakdown every time she goes into her own home. Do those people ever even think about this? Like I said. The very essence of suicide is just plain selfishness.  
The least people could do is go out without making a mess.

I know exactly how _I'd_ do it.

Yeah, that's right. Despite the fact that I wholeheartedly disapprove of suicide, I've planned out every last detail of what I'd do in my own rhetorical death.

Go ahead. Ask me.

Ask me how I'd kill myself.

I bet you'd never guess.  
There's so many ways to do it that get overlooked.  
Did you know that you can die from eating dirt?  
Yep! That's right! You can kill yourself with _dirt_.  
This was my plan number one.

There's plenty of dirt in the Koneko no Sumu Ie.  
I thought it would be fantastically ironic to survive every assassination mission, only to die by means of the _flower shop_.

I've got a weird sense of humor, though.

I've changed my mind, however. You have to eat an awful lot of it for that to work. And it's a very slow painful way to go. I think it ruptures your stomach and you internally bleed to death or something. Not pleasant. And there's always the risk that someone'd get me to a hospital before I could kick the bucket.

So I changed my plan.

Kept it flower shop related of course. I liked that idea too much to drop. But changed the ingested substance to a botanical one. I settled on yew. It's a nice substitute for arsenic, I've heard. Plus it's one of the most popular landscaping plants out there. I wouldn't have to walk for more than five minutes before I found some.

Why do people choose to edge their lawns with a deadly plant? Beats me. It's kinda pretty, I guess.

Well, anyway…it's not like I'll ever actually _do_ any of that. It's just something I like to think about. I don't sleep too well at night. It's something to keep my mind occupied.

I check the clock again.

It's been almost two hours now. It's stupid to bother waiting any longer. I might as well check for some sort of sign to confirm my theory. I doubt Aya would have been careless enough to leave any clues, but Yohji might have.

I need but to open the door to his room for all the proof I need.

It's spotless.

The curtains are up. There's not a single article of clothing on the floor--or anything else for that matter. The bed is made…shit, he even turned the sheets down into _hospital corners_. This is not a room intended for habitation anytime soon.

With a sick feeling in my stomach, I open the top left drawer of his dresser.

No Asuka.

Shit.

Now I can't even pretend they might come back.  
Yohji isn't exactly in the habit of toting that picture around.  
In fact, it's never left the drawer for as long as I've known about it. Which has been a pretty long time.  
Not that I was ever _supposed_ to know about it. I expect Yohji would be fairly disturbed if he ever found out that I knew. Not that that's a threat anymore.

I'm not exactly proud of the way I found out.  
But then, there's a lot of stuff I'm not especially proud of.

I mentioned that I don't sleep too well.

It's partly because I have a lot of nightmares; partly because I think too much.  
I lay in bed at night and remember those kidnapped children I promised I'd save; that I was too late to save; that _died_.  
I think about how Ouka might still be alive if I'd pushed her away.  
I wonder if I would have turned out as horrible as my family if I were never kidnapped….  
I think about how I turned out horrible anyway.  
….Just in a different way.

I really hate thinking sometimes.

I discovered that alcohol is an _excellent_ cure for thinking.

So I developed a real fondness for drinking the voices out of my head on particularly bad nights.

There was just one problem.

I'm underage.

Now this doesn't seem a problem for most people. Supposedly it's really easy to get alcohol anyway. Most clerks don't even bother to do ID checks.  
Well, they bother with _me_.  
Every time without fail.

I even made myself a fake ID. I had the equipment to make it very professionally, too. But did it work? _No_.  
Every single one of them insisted I simply looked too young for them to believe it was real. One jerk even accused me of being twelve. Did _that_ ever piss me off.

So there's the sad truth.

What was I doing in Yohji's room? I was raiding it for booze.  
I mean, Yohji sure seems like the kinda guy who'd keep the stuff around, doesn't he?  
At least that's what I thought.  
I have since learned to put less faith in appearance.  
Yohji did not have a single drop of alcohol stashed anywhere.

What did I find?

That picture of Asuka, and a stack of Louis L'Amour books and romance novels. Oh yeah, I think there was a grungy plastic dinosaur under his bed too. Yohji's even weirder than he seems.

Oh well. I suppose I ought to go find Ken and give him the news. He'll probably want to take off before Kritiker finds out about Yohji and Aya. It'll certainly be easier for him that way.

Hell, it's what _I'd_ do if faced with the proposition of having no one left for company but me.


	7. The grownups get to make the rules and w...

"The grownups get to make the rules, and we have all the fun"

--KEN—

This is wrong. Wrong, wrong wrong.

We're in Akihabara. AKIHABARA. Omi should be running around like a kid at Christmas or something. We're standing on a street surrounded by all the newest spiffiest high tech stuff in all Japan. Not to mention at the lowest prices. He should be ogling some computer or buying a new game, or...or, _something_.

But...

He's not even looking!

He hasn't so much as stopped to even glance into a single window.

He's staring at his feet.

Like... .

Like, we were at...a wake or something.

It's just...wrong.

It's not Omi. Omi's not like this. I've NEVER seen him like this. Wrong, wrong, wrong!

WHY is he acting so..._wrong_?!

I've reassured him a dozen times that Aya and Yohji will come back! We're ditching work! We're in his favorite place in all of Tokyo...heck, all of Japan, I'm pretty sure! And, and he's acting like someone died! Why won't he believe things will be okay?!

C'mon, Omi...you've just gotta feel better. PLEASE believe me that things will be okay. You're...freaking me out. I feel like I don't even know you all of the sudden. I...I want the old Omi back.

Dammit. Now _I'm_ starting to get depressed! I _can't_ get depressed! If I'm depressed, I'll _never_ cheer him up! And I have to...I just...I HAVE to cheer him up.

God, I suck at handling these sorta situations. I'm the biggest social klutz you ever saw. I'm just gonna screw things up worse, I know it. I wish Yohji were here. Yohji knows how to react to anything. I bet he would have been able to fix whatever's wrong with Omi in like, two minutes or something. But _no_. If stupid Yohji were still here, there would have been no problem with Omi in the first place. Grrr, when he comes back I'm gonna knock him into next week. He'll be so bruised he won't be able to get a date for a month, at least! Ha, now that would be the ultimate punishment, wouldn't it?! No dates for Yohji. Ha. Man oh man is he gonna be sorry for making Omi feel bad. Stupid effing Yohji.

Okay, I need to stop dwelling on this and focus on finding the biggest and spiffiest arcade in Akihabara. Then...I'll MAKE him have fun. Yeah.

There's one...but I bet I can find a better one. Not awesome enough, nope!

Another one! But it's only five stories. I _know_ I can do better than that.

Damn it's hard to not go into some of these stores. But no stops for me till I've set Omi right. Hmmm...

There we go! Seven stories! And it's got a man in a bear-suit standing outside! Yeah, if the place bothers to hire someone to stand outside in a stupid costume, you _know_ it's gotta be good.

I suddenly feel...evil.

So I walk over to the man in the bear-suit and tell him that I think Omi needs a hug. The expression on Omi's face quite clearly indicates that he most certainly does NOT want a hug, but with a little help from Mr. 500 yen piece, the bear is more than happy to relentlessly chase Omi up and down the street. Well, that might not do anything for Omi, but _I_ certainly feel better. Hehe.

When Omi comes back, he has the most murderous expression that I have ever seen grace his face. Well, at least it's an emotion different from before. Some kinda progress...I guess.

Oh well, I won't let him stay that way for long. First stop, photo sticker booth!

Omi just looks at me questionably (he's trying so hard to stay angry too.)

"Before and after pictures! When we're done here you'll be amazed to see how miserable you look now, just watch!"

"Whatever."

I sigh and push him into the booth.

"What background do you want?"

Omi shrugs...and says nothing.

So I hit the option for 'dancing rainbow stars.'

No reaction.

"Smile!"

Scowl deepens. I think he's actually making an _effort_ to be miserable. Well, he's asking for it.

The picture of us pops up on the screen. Man, he looks like some sort of puppy that just got kicked.

Time to...decorate. Hehe...

So I take the pen and give Omi horns...and an eye patch...hmm...oh yeah, accentuate the frown a bit...make his eyebrows look a bit grumpier...stamp a ghost floating over his head...

Hm, the picture's missing something...

Oh right, I didn't do anything to my side of it yet.

A quick halo scribbled over my head does the trick.

Brilliant. I knew I should have been an artist.

And Omi...says nothing! Well there's a shock.

So I print the stickers out and stick one on his forehead.

He wants to take it off. It's SO obvious he wants to take it off. But it's also obvious that he doesn't want to reward my childish behavior with a reaction. So he leaves it there. Just to prove something. Well gosh Omi, you sure showed me.

He's going down.

I drag him up the stairs with the intention of taking him to one of the game floors...but a UFO catcher grabs my attention. Okay, I need to make a stop here before we go farther...

A thousand yen later, I haven't made any more progress with the damn machine.

I'm getting mad.

So I hit it. It does nothing. I call it names. No reaction. Hey this UFO catcher and Omi would hit it off pretty well.

So I do the only thing I can.

I drop three hundred more yen into the slot. I'm gonna get it this time, grrr.

The claw completely misses the box. I don't even get it picked up so I can drop it. It looks so easy too! Just teetering there on the edge...

Omi's just standing there watching me bang my head against the catcher machine.

I'm reaching into my pocket to pull out a few hundred more yen, when something shocking happens. Omi talks to me!

"Um, Ken kun? WHY is it so important that you win a lighter engraved with Lupin III ?"

He's got to be kidding! Isn't it obvious?

"Christmas shopping!"

Omi blinks.

"Don't tell me you don't look at the contents of that catcher machine and think 'wow, what a perfect present for Yohji!'?"

From the blank expression on Omi's face, I guess not.

Then he twitches a bit, and I can tell from the way he's biting his lip that he's trying not to laugh.

"What?" I ask, innocently.

"You...do your Christmas shopping...at the _arcade_?!"

"Sure do!"

"It all makes so much sense now."

"What's that supposed to mean?!"

"Well, I was trying to figure out where the hell you would have found Aya kun a scarf covered with little orange frogs."

"Do you know how LONG it took me to win that?!" I clutch my chest dramatically. "There's _love_ in that scarf!"

Yep, that did the trick. Omi's started laughing.

"Yeah, you could just see the well of emotion in Aya kun when he opened it too!"

"Hey! He liked it!" I say defensively.

Omi smirks. "If I remember correctly, his exact response was '_Hn. Nice color_'."

"From Aya, that's actually a huge compliment!"

"Mmm, right. You could tell he just LOVED it. Which is obviously why he lets the cat sleep on it."

"Well what was I supposed to get him? The cupboard's too full for another coffee mug! Besides! Frogs are _cool_!"

"They sure are. And there's just something about Aya kun that screams out 'frog lover' isn't there?"

"Well, it was better than the impersonal gift certificate you gave him!"

"It's what he asked for. And he got a book with it--which he actually read--which is a bit more use than that frog scarf ever saw."

"You're just jealous, 'cause it never occurred to you that you could make Christmas shopping so much fun!"

"Well you're right about that. It DEFINITELY never occurred to me."

He's smiling! He's honest to god SMILING! Okay, so it took some ego-bashing on my part, but hey! That's the kinda friend I am. Dude, I rock.

"So are you going to keep insulting me, or are you gonna help me win Yohji's present?"

"You're really serious about getting that for Yohji kun?!" Omi asks incredulously.

"Of course! He smokes like fifty packs a day, so it's definitely useful. And doesn't Lupin seem like a good match for Yohji?"

Omi looks thoughtful. "No, actually, I think Yohji kun would be disturbed by the implication that you think he's like Lupin. Get him the one with Fujiko on it. He'll like that better."

"Wow...you're right. Man, you're coming with me for ALL my gift shopping from now on!"

Omi just rolls his eyes. "You _do_ need all the help you can get."

"I still stand by my opinion that you're jealous," I reply stubbornly.

"How could I be so transparent?" He responds dryly, "Now move and let me get it before you waste any more money."

"Oh right, like you're gonna be able to do any better."

"Watch and learn."

"Well?" He's not doing anything at all! What's he thinking...?

"Shh. Just wait a second."

Um, okay...I still don't see how he's getting any closer to winning anything...

Then I notice one of the arcade employees patrolling around the corner. Omi's suddenly dropping a coin into the machine. And he does the lousiest job at catching anything I've ever seen. Man, I don't think he was even trying! What's up with that?!

And he's gone back to looking like a kicked puppy. Oh man, I thought I was making progress...

Wait. The employee is coming over to us. Uh oh, I hope she didn't see me punching the machine!

But she doesn't say anything. She pulls out a key, and unlocks the glass door, standing there expectantly. Omi points to the one of Fujiko and she drops it into a gift bag with the arcade logo on it, and pats Omi on the head. He rewards her with the fakest expression of shock and gratitude I've ever seen. What the hell?!

Omi's shock may be fake, but mine's not! I didn't know the arcade did that!

Omi casually hands me the lighter and turns to go up the stairs. I run to catch up with him and give him an accusing suspicious look.

"What?" he asks innocently, "Didn't you know they did that?"

"No!"

He smiles. "They're very concerned with maintaining customer satisfaction. I learned that from watching some of the girls from the flower shop, ha ha."

"I don't know whether to be embarrassed or impressed," I state truthfully, rubbing the back of my head. "I certainly would have never tried that."

He shrugs. "Eh, you always look too confident for them to have intervened anyway. They go for the disappointed people."

"Uh. Thanks...I guess."

"C'mon," he says, tugging my arm a bit, "there's a game upstairs I want to play."

"Now THAT'S more like it!" I reply cheerfully. And before he can change his mind, I'm pushing him the rest of the way up the stairs.

He's gonna have fun, goddammit. Even if it kills me!

**A/N:** Title taken from a song by Jesse Winchester


	8. And the sun surrenders to the evening

"And the sun surrenders to the evening"

-YOHJI-

Kyoto is dangerous. It's messing with my head. Making me think weird things. Maybe this idea of mine wasn't such a good one.

I know I said we'd stop places on the way down, but I never did. I had this uneasy feeling that the second I slowed down, Aya would bail. I could almost visualize him jumping out of the moving car, like in a movie or something. Rolling out the door, and into a ditch; me miles away before my brain puts one and two together. Him a tiny dot, vanishing behind me. Never to be seen again. I wouldn't put it past him.

So not only did I never stop, but I drove _fast_. Orange groves streaked by, a golden blur. I couldn't tell the trees apart from bamboo. Fields and water blended into one. Only the mountains kept their shape, and even they quickly passed.

I tell myself, we'll have plenty of time to stop on the way back. Best to start in Kyoto. Start someplace really nice, so Aya will like it. So Aya will want to stick out the trip. So I won't be alone.

So we get here in record time. Before dinner even; in time for me to find a nice place for us to stay. Originally, I just figured I'd crash in the car. Or camp out. I wasn't too worried about petty details like where I would sleep. This is supposed to be an adventure, right? But as the hours ticked on, and the telephone poles flew by…I started to worry. What is Aya thinking right now? Is he just bidding his time for the first opportunity to get away? Is he going to take off no matter what? Or will the impression I give him make a difference? Is he testing me? Just when did this turn from a responsibility bail to a stress-fest? Why do I CARE?

So we're in Kyoto, and I can't even relax. But Aya. Aya, on the other hand blends in like he's never been anywhere else. It's uncanny, but Aya _belongs_ here. No person was meant to be in Kyoto more than Aya. I'm glad I brought him here. And yet. I'm afraid I won't be able to take him away again. The old buildings, the temples, the carefully trained pine trees…they just match his personality. It's quiet, and graceful; like Aya. Graceful? Since when did I start thinking of Aya like _that_? Grouchy maybe….but _graceful_?! See what I mean? This city's doing some serious brain damage here. Or maybe it was the fumes from the car. Maybe.

I'm thinking too much. Thinking was never my forte.

After dropping our stuff off in the inn (yes, this was premeditated to the point where I swiped a couple of Aya's shirts and his toothbrush, before swiping Aya,) we just walk around a bit. It's dusky out, we have an hour or two before everything closes down. I steer us towards one of those touristy streets. You know, the kind that look old fashioned and quaint, but the shops are filled with fans and dolls and key-chains. Girls in kimonos sell Hello Kitty t-shirts. Men in haoris sell ice cream. I'm thinking it would be fun to go shopping, maybe pick up some silly souvenirs for Omi and Ken. Just what might they like, anyway? A shirt? Some candy? I stop and look into one of the first displays. There's some little stuffed cats, sewn out of kimono fabric. Hey, that's kinda cute. And the different colors are supposed to represent things too. Look, I could get Omi a cat that means 'luck in studies.' Sounds like a good present to me.

"Hey Aya! What do you think about getting Omi this…."

I turn around, only to discover that Aya did NOT follow my lead when I stopped. No, he kept on walking right up the street. If it weren't for his distinguishing hair color, I might have already lost him.

"Shit!" I take off after him, the souvenir all but forgotten. I'm crashing into people, why does the street have to be so crowded?! I can barely apologize as I go, I'm too scared of losing sight of him. Can he really be ditching me already?! Damn, I knew it. I just _knew_ he'd do this.

I'm not really thinking straight. It never even occurs to me that he's simply taking a minor diversion, fully intending to meet me back at the inn. No, my brain can only jump to conclusions, and separation equals abandonment. I've just been abandoned. The entire point of this thing being to prove to myself that I can trust people again, and I can't even make it till the first dinner time. My outlook on life is getting bleaker by the minute.

And yet.

I catch up with him. He doesn't falter. He doesn't speed up. He doesn't even look at me. Most importantly, he doesn't seem like he's trying to get away. He just didn't want to stop. He looks determined, like he's set on doing something--make that going somewhere. I follow his gaze to the top of the street. A temple. Apparently, Aya's very set on visiting that temple. Well, I can hardly feel surprised. But he might have at least said something.

"Hey, Aya? You wanted to go to that temple?" I ask.

He nods, and keeps walking.

"Any particular reason you want to go there?" I prod.

No comment.

Sigh.

Nothing to do but follow.

I think, maybe he's going to check out the garden? That's what _I_ like about these places. They look so old and everything is worn down and blanketed in moss. It's easy to believe you're actually standing someplace two, three hundred years ago. When I visited these types of places as a kid, I'd pretend I was a samurai. I'd run past all the people bowing to the figures and drinking from the fountains. I'd hide behind the Jizo statues and jump out at my parents when they walked by. Sometimes I'd bring an umbrella and challenge complete strangers to duels. Hm. Maybe that's why they suddenly stopped taking me to temples….

Well, anyway, Aya surprises me and walks right past the plum trees and koi ponds. He doesn't even bother to look at them (weird, I thought Aya was really into tasteful gardens and whatnot. Or did I just assume he was? I'm not sure anymore.) He goes up to the bell hanging in front of the pagoda and rings it, then claps and bows. I'm fascinated. This seems way too superstitious for Aya. Aya always struck me as…well, not _atheistic_, but close. Agnostic maybe…certainly not one to practice organized religion. Is this what he does when he goes off on his free time? I always thought he hung out at the library or something….

Aya's now walking over to the booth that sells charms and stuff. The priest is handing him one of those wooden boards that you write a desire on and then hang up, in hopes of being granted by whatever spirits might be watching over the temple. Man, I _really_ want to go over and see what he's writing on it, but I certainly know better. Eh, it's not like I can't guess though. He's probably putting down something like 'May Reiji Takatori's soul be burning in Hell for all eternity' or something along those lines. Dude, Aya's so _weird_.

He then walks over to the lattice and gracefully (there I go using that word again!?) ties it up among the hundreds of other hanging boards. It's easy to guess that most of those boards say things like 'let me pass my exam' or 'get blank-san to go out with me.' People turn to religion for the most trivial things. I bet it'll look strange having a malicious wish for suffering casually knocking around all those everyday innocent requests.

He's still not done, though. He goes back to the priest and buys something else. It's one of those little charms that have been blessed by the priest to grant good luck. Another practice I would have never imagined Aya buying into. He tries to nonchalantly slip it into his pocket, but I get a good enough look at it before he does. I think it's one of the 'protection from illness' charms. Yet _another_ surprise. Since when was Aya worried about his health?! Shouldn't he be more concerned with the possibility of an _unnatural_ death? I didn't think he even _cared_ about the possibility of dying. If it bothers him, he's certainly done a good job of hiding it. Well, until now, at least.

This 'vacation' of mine is starting to turn into more of a mystery. Or maybe it's just the detective in me getting nosy. I'm intrigued as hell though. I want to find out just what makes Aya tick.

After leaving the temple (Aya will not say a word about it,) we stop at the nearest restaurant. I suddenly realize that I'm _starving_. It's been hours and hours since I ate anything, but until now I was too nervous and excited about this stunt I just pulled to notice I was hungry. Yet, almost instantly I get distracted _again_. And guess by what? Gee, it's _Aya_. Noticing a trend to my day?

This time I can't help watching him eat. It's another detail I never really noticed before. He's ordered just a plain old bowl of udon, and he's attending to it like a ritual. Instead of just grabbing a clump of noodles and slurping them (like a guy,) he's meticulously picking them up one at a time, and dropping them into a spoon, which he uses to hold the loose end while he eats it with his chopstick. It's all so _precise_ and _neat_. Really, I've only ever seen girls bother with that spoon trick. But for some reason, it seems sorta cute that Aya does that…..

Between each noodle (I can't believe he's eating them _one at a time_) he sets the spoon and chopsticks down and picks up his mug (both hands) and sips his tea (green.) The whole time he's kept his eyes averted, fixed on his bowl of udon, so I didn't really think he'd notice that I'd been watching him.

He completely catches me off guard when he looks up and asks, "Why are you staring at me?"

Ack! "I um, was just thinking your udon looked really good, and I um, was wishing I got that instead of what I got!" Smooth, Yohji. Real smooth.

"Oh," he says, and then really surprises me when he adds, "would you like some?"

He picks up one of his noodles and offers it to me. I notice he was thoughtful enough to flip his chopsticks around first, so none of his 'germs' would get on the noodle. I'm further confused when I realize that this gesture leaves me somewhat…_disappointed?!_ What's getting into me?

I thank him and take the noodle. It's pretty good…for a tasteless noodle.

I then dive into my okonomiyaki (of course I got okonomiyaki. Had to make good on that yaki rant I gave in the car...) with intense fervor. I don't look at Aya again till every last bit is gone. Aya's still doggedly working away at his udon, noodle by noodle. I try _really_ hard to look at anything _but_ Aya, but it's just not working. My eyes keep gravitating back to him, no matter what. I finally give up trying and just resign myself to watch. I think Aya notices, but thankfully he's not the type to press the issue farther. I let it be.

Walking out of the restaurant, I ask him if he'd like to look for some yakiimo for dessert.

"Here?" he asks, looking mildly surprised, "I thought you wanted to find the place that made it best?"

Did I just hear that right?! Cause that sounded to me like Aya was planning on hanging around for stops past Kyoto. Aya's sticking this out?! With me!

I'm not even thinking when I jump up and down and hug him. Oops. I release him as soon as I realize what a big no-no I just committed. Uh oh.

Instead of getting mad (what I expected,) Aya looks shocked. He stands there rigidly for a minute before turning around and walking towards the inn at twice his previous pace.

"We should get some sleep," he says awkwardly.

"Without a doubt," is all I can think to say.

All night, my dreams are filled with Aya.


	9. Things aren't always what they seem

"Things aren't always what they seem; you learn along the way"

-AYA-

He's. Doing. It. AGAIN.

Why does he keep doing that?!

Is there something on my face? If there is, then why doesn't he just SAY something?!

...Instead of just sitting there...and _staring_.

God. Why does Yohji keep STARING at me like that?

It's staring to make me feel paranoid.

Maybe he's doing it on purpose.

You know, to make me nervous.

Yeah, that must be it.

That goofy grin of his is a -dead giveaway-.

He's enjoying this, damnit!

I can't let him know that he's getting to me.

Hm, If I just don't let myself look at him, then I won't be able to tell he's staring.

Or not. I can still _feel_ him staring.

Grrrr.

I know, I'll meditate!

...On coffee!

Yes, I'll stare at my coffee, and think about absolutely nothing but _coffee_.

Mmm. Coffee.

Coffee is...nice!

...It smells nice!

It tastes nice too!

Well, it doesn't always taste nice. You know that freeze-dried kind that they serve at diners and just keep sitting on a burner for twenty-four hours straight, and never clean the filter...

...That coffee doesn't taste so nice.

This coffee is...okay.

Not as good as MY coffee. My coffee is very, very nice!

"Uh, Aya?"

...I go to a specialty shop and get the beans _fresh_! Then I grind them myself to get it just right. My coffee rules.

"Aya?"

I really hate it when Ken wakes up before me and tries to make his own coffee. He can't get it right at _all_. One time he just put the beans in the filter and didn't even grind them! Then another time, he _burned_ it. How the hell do you _burn_ coffee?! I don't know, but Ken sure does.

Grrrr.

"_Aya?!_"

I always drink mine black. Milk and sugar are for sissies. What's the point of drinking coffee if you're just going to cover up its taste? Take _Yohji_ for instance. He dumps, like, eight packets of sugar into his mug. It's a wonder he hasn't become diabetic. I bet I couldn't even recognize the liquid in his cup as _coffee_ anymore. Haha. What a lame-o. Yeah, Yohji couldn't even...

Oh.

Yohji.

It suddenly dawns on me that he's been calling my name. I wonder how long he's been doing that?

I look up at him, and he's staring worse than ever.

Gaaaaah.

"Um, Aya, are you all right?"

I nod. Of course I'm all right, nitwit. Where you hoping I _wasn't_? Wanted proof your little staring game was getting to me?

"Is there something wrong with your coffee?"

"My coffee? What would be wrong with it?" More like, what's wrong with _Yohji_?

"Well, you were staring at it pretty intensely," he says, "I thought it might be bad or something."

Oh. So is _that_ what he thought?!

"I notice you were staring at _me_ pretty intensely. Was that because _I_ was 'bad or something'?"

Yohji chokes on his orange juice, coughs, and then turns about three shades of red. Weird. I've never seen Yohji blush before.

"What?! NO! I don't think... I wasn't staring! Er, not at _you_! There was a really hot waitress behind you! And I was, ah, looking at her! Ah heh heh...heh..."

"She was standing behind me for twenty five minutes straight?" I ask, incredulously.

"Er, yeah. I think she likes you," he says, weakly.

Ha. Your little game's not so fun when the tables are turned on you, eh, Yohji?

"Why would she like me just from staring at the back of my head?"

"Uh...why not?" Yohji oh-so-articulately responds.

"Why would she stare at the _back_ of my head, when there's plenty of perfectly attractive people whom she could watch from the front?"

"After all this time in the flower shop, you haven't yet realized that we are bonafide babe magnets?" Yohji says with a smirk, "No one gets stared at more than us!"

"Then why wasn't she staring at _you_?"

Yohji goes, "Huh?"

"I said," I reiterate, "why wasn't she staring at _you_?"

"Er," Yohji says, "maybe she was!"

"I thought you said she was staring at _me_?"

"She was!" Yohji corrects, defensively, "Maybe she was staring at both of us, and I just didn't say anything."

"Don't believe you." I say, crossing my arms in front of my chest.

"What?! Why shouldn't you believe me?!"

"Because you would have hit on her."

Yohji pales considerably. He better not try to deny that one.

"Well I'm finished!" he answers, obviously changing the subject, "What do you want to do today?"

I'm so glad he asked! "Kiyomizu," I say, and then on second thought add, "and Yasaka, and Rokuonji."

Yohji's mouth drops open, "_more temples?!_"

"There's over two thousand temples in Kyoto alone," I answer smugly.

"Holy crap! You better not expect to see them all!" Yohji sounds a little panicky.

Instead of answering him I just give him a knowing smile. Heh. Messing with Yohji is kinda fun.

Yohji frowns. "Hmm. What do you say to meeting at Yasaka in twenty minutes then? I'd like to make a stop first if we're going to spend the entire day temple hopping."

Figures. He probably wants to pick up a girl to take along. Whatever.

"If you want."

"Where should we meet?" he asks cheerfully, "On the steps by the gate?"

I think about this for a minute. "No. I'd rather wait by the pond in the garden, than next to a busy road."

"Sounds like a plan!" Yohji says, grinning. He slaps down payment for our breakfast. Huh. I wonder how long that will last, before he starts expecting me to pay him back?

"See ya!" he calls, dashing out the door.

I really don't get him.

Yesterday he was trailing me like the plague, and now he's hell-bent to go off on his own. Not that I care, I just think it's strange. Oh well, it's to my advantage. Now I don't have to feel so self-conscious at the temple. He was looking at me weird when I bought that talisman for Aya.

I plan to buy another one, after all. In fact, I plan to buy several.

Last night I decided something.

I was lying in bed, and couldn't sleep. I kept wondering just what the hell was I doing, anyway? Why on earth did I stay in the car with Yohji? I didn't even want to stay, I just _did_ for some reason. It baffled me... But then I thought of how nice Kyoto is...it's been years since I last visited, and I haven't had any time away from...my _job_...since the accident. This thought is immediately followed by a huge surge of guilt. I don't deserve time away. I should be earning money. I need to save up! When Aya wakes up, _I'll_ be responsible for her tuition! And we'll want to get a house! When Aya wakes up, I want to give her the nicest life possible... Vacations are out of the question.

But thinking about my responsibilities for Aya also reminded me of how satisfying going to the temple felt. I hadn't bothered with temples since our parents died. Temple visits were a family thing. It was way too painful to go alone and be reminded of all the new years and festivals past spent with Aya. But yesterday was different somehow...

I guess I was already in a weird mood thanks to Yohji's inexplicable behavior. I felt like I had to justify not going home right away, and a temple stop seemed like appropriate penance. So I made a beeline for the first one in sight.

When I got there I prayed for Aya. I left her name hanging at the temple with my wish for her recovery. I bought a health charm to take home and hang over her hospital bed. And suddenly...suddenly I felt better than I have in over a year. Even though nothing was different, I felt like I had finally done something to help her. It was the first time I stopped feeling helpless since Takatori's death.

So I decided.

I'm going to stick out this crazy trip with Yohji.

At least for a while.

Because I have a new quest.

I'm going to visit every damn temple I can find. I'm going to leave her name in _all_ of them. If there's anyone out there watching, well, I'm going to make sure as hell that Aya's not overlooked.

Damn. I feel better.

By the time Yohji finally shows up I've been finished with the temple for over half an hour. Twenty minutes my ass.

I'm shocked to see he's still alone. Maybe he took so long because he couldn't find a girl. That's only slightly less difficult to believe than the idea that maybe he wasn't looking for a girl in the first place. Yeah right.

I glare at him, and it gets the message across.

"Sorry Aya!" he says guiltily, "I had more trouble than I expected finding the book I wanted."

Book? Did Yohji just say _book_?!

Yohji reads?

Holy crap, who'd a thunk.

"You went to get a _book_?" I ask, suspiciously.

"Yeah," he says, "I figured you'd want to spend more time in these places than me, so I got something to read, so I wouldn't rush you."

That sounds way too thoughtful to be coming from Yohji. He must be plotting something.

"May I see your book?" I ask, eyeing the bag he's clutching.

"You won't like it," he says, with a shrug.

"Try me."

He actually looks a bit embarrassed when he hands me the package.

By god, if Yohji bought the 'Kama Sutra,' I swear I'll kill him.

A cheap looking paperback falls out.

The cover sports a picture of a blondish cowboy jumping out of a burning stagecoach, with an auburn-haired girl thrown over his shoulder. There are a _lot_ of petticoats...

Ew. This looks like...

I read the title: "Hearts on the Range."

...A crappy romance novel.

I'm not sure whether to say 'it figures,' or 'what the hell?!'

Morbid curiosity causes me to read the back.

"_Abandoned by her family, Susie May has no choice but to become a class-less bar girl to support herself. Used, unloved, life seems to have dealt her a losing hand. Until one day she finds herself trapped in the hard-muscled arms of a dashing stranger—Joss Jamison—an outlaw with a price on his head. The reward money for his capture would give her the means to make a better life. But what will she do if he captures her heart?_"

Oh my dear sweet lord. Someone got _paid _to write this epic piece of shit? And even more disturbing, Yohji just did the paying.

I give him a complete and utter blank look.

"I told you you wouldn't like it," he says, snatching the book back with a frown.

"What gave you that idea?" I ask sarcastically, "The contrived plot, or the utter lack of talent in the writing?"

"Oh I bet I know what it was. It was the adjective 'hard-muscled' wasn't it? I'm obviously too conventional to appreciate such an underused descriptive word choice."

Yohji frowns some more. I think I catch him muttering something under his breath which sounds like "...motions..." but I can't say for sure.

Oh well, if he wants to rot his brain out on that crap, I certainly won't stop him.

"So, you're done here, right?" Yohji asks.

"Yeah," I say, "why? Were you anxious to get started on your _book_?"

"No," he says, "I just wanted to know what the plan was. So we should get started towards Kiyomizu then?"

"Yeah," I say, "that sounds good."

Sight seeing with Yohji is like traveling with a little kid. Every five minutes he wants to stop and check out one of the stores. He's already acquired a whole bag of 'souvenirs' which he claims are obligatory presents for Ken and Omi. Though what Ken is going to do with a pair of rainbow socks is beyond me.

I even asked him if he'd like to just shop while I go to the temple and meet afterwards, but he turned me down. Huh.

When we get to the temple, I expect Yohji to wander off on his own. There's always tons of people at this one, I figured he'd probably go find some girls to talk to or something...but he keeps following me. I'm starting to wonder if he thinks I'm gonna ditch him or something. I bet he's really bored.

He's even following me through all the ritualistic ceremonies I'm doing for Aya. These aren't things you just do for no reason. What's Yohji hoping for? A chance out of Weiß? A girl? Uh..._what else __**would**__ Yohji wish for?_

Once again I purchase a board from the priest to record my request for Aya's recovery. My curiosity is really piqued when Yohji buys one too_. Now's my chance to find out what's on Yohji's mind!_ I can't see what he's writing though. I pretend to be utterly absorbed in my own writing, but I watch him out of the corner of my eye and see where he hangs it. I hang mine next to his so I can read what it says... Which doesn't help one bit. Yohji wrote: "Let there be another 99."

What the hell does 99 mean?!

Yohji is a strange one all right.

I guess it's the combination of him following me constantly and the fact that he's not making any sense at all that sets me off. When I go to buy Aya's talisman he once again mimics me. Except instead of picking out a 'protection of health' one, he takes 'luck in love.' Now this is a typically Yohji move and out of habit I make a sarcastic comment.

"You might want to be careful there Yohji, that thing might cause you to get stuck with just _one_ girl."

Okay, I know that was mean.

But I'm always mean, I thought he was used to it.

Yohji's reaction takes me completely by surprise.

"Don't you _ever_ assume that you know what I want," he says, in a really hurt voice. Then he glares at me and mutters, "You know, I think I've had enough of temples for the day. Why don't you just meet me back at the hotel, okay?"

Before I can even say anything else, he's stomped off.

I'm speechless. Yohji has never, ever reacted like that before.

I chide him on his endless flirting all the time, and if anything, he's usually the first one to laugh. That's the absolute first time I've ever seen him take offense at anything. What on earth is going _on _with him?!

At first I intend to stick to my original schedule, but my hearts just not in it anymore. I feel guilty, which is an entirely new experience for me in regards to Yohji. So I somehow end up just aimlessly wandering around the shops along the street from Kiyomizu. In fact, I end up feeling so bad that I decide to bring something back for him as a peace offering. Yeah, I know, me spending money on anyone other than Aya. Look out, it's the end of the world. I guess Yohji's weirdness is catching.

So just what does one get for Yohji, anyway? For holidays I usually give him a bottle of nice scotch. That doesn't seem quite appropriate in this case. 'Hey Yohji, I think you're a jerk. Here's some booze so you can get drunk and be an even bigger jerk!' Yeah, that's definitely a bad idea. Let's see, when he was shopping earlier, he definitely kept gravitating towards the weird little toys and things. Is that because he likes that stuff, or just that he thinks Ken and Omi do? Probably just Ken and Omi. Umm...good grief. I actually can't think of a single thing Yohji likes other than girls and alcohol. Geeze. Oh, wait. He kept talking about cowboy movies in the car. I guess that's _something_ he's into.

It doesn't take me long to realize that it's almost impossible to find anything cowboy related in the historic district of Kyoto. In the end, I resort to buying him a small stuffed horse, as Chinese zodiac animals are plentiful. I don't think Yohji's zodiac is the horse, and I kinda doubt he'll realize my logic in picking it out. He's probably going to think 'what the _hell_?!' Oh well, I tried.

He doesn't even look up when I come into the room.

He's in the middle of his second six-pack, and three fourths of the way through "Hearts on the Range." I say hi, and he just vaguely waves at me.

I awkwardly thrust the toy at him, "Er, I got this for you, 'cause I, uh, felt bad."

Yohji goes, "huh?"

It takes him a moment to notice the horse and connect it with what I said. He then looks at me strangely for a minute.

I'm feeling stupid and kicking myself for bothering. See? Being nice just makes people think you're strange.

But then Yohji smiles and takes it.

"Hey thanks," he says, then look at his remaining six pack. "Want a drink?"

_Me _drinking beer?!

...

Oh, what the hell.

"Okay."


	10. A way for me to tell you what's been on ...

"Here's an opportunity for us to find  
A way for me to tell you what's been on my mind"

--Yohji--

Witnessing a drunk Aya has always been on my list of ambitions to achieve before I die.

It sounds like a really interesting concept, doesn't it?

There were such fascinating possibilities! Would he be one of those really lude and raucous drunks? I've noticed from observation that it's often the most reserved and uptight patrons that really let loose under the influence. I've seen respectable businessmen do things that even _I _wouldn't repeat….

Aya could potentially be the life of the party once his inhibitions were taken care of….

Or maybe he'd be a talkative drunk. The ones who have all sorts of secrets locked up inside and are just dying to let them loose on the first person they see once some alcohol has opened the floodgate…. Now that could be _really _interesting, you know? I'd pay to hear some of the stuff I imagine Aya's keeping from the world.

Of course, I couldn't deny the possibility that a drunk Aya would not be one iota different from a sober Aya. He's so composed and in control. The most likely scenario, I must admit, was that consuming booze would lead to nothing more out of the ordinary than a headache and consequent grumpiness.

Now having finally experienced this rare occurrence…well, I only _wish _that the mundane outcome of option three had been the case. I was _not _prepared for what happened.

It all started out well enough, I suppose. I only offered him the beer as a gesture. I sure as hell never expected him to _take_ it. And for once in my life, I really _didn't _have the ambition of trying to get him smashed. I was just trying to be social and all….kinda like how I'm always offering the guys cigarettes even though I know they all detest me smoking. And how I try to lend them 'reading material' despite the fact that my periodicals of choice mortify Ken and Omi, and result in deadly glares from Aya… okay, so that last one is not a social grace, but I find it damn funny, heh. Anyway, my point being that I always make it clear that the beer is not an attempt to socially isolate myself, and I'd be willing to share if only the others were interested in partaking. This was just a historic moment of acceptance. What with how weird Aya's been acting these past few days, well, I probably shouldn't have let him drink much. But I'd already drunk a fair bit myself, so I admit I wasn't running at my keenest.

He practically chugged the first bottle, I suspect because he didn't like it and wanted to get it down as quick as possible, which wasn't really too surprising. What _was _surprising, though, was when he wordlessly held his hand out in request for another. Shocked, I obliged, and tossed him a second. Like the first, this one was downed at lightning speed. For the third, he bypassed me altogether and got the can himself. By this point, I'd stopped thinking in any form whatsoever that might be taken for "responsibly" and was simply watching in awe, wondering what he'd do next. What he did next was toss the empty third can and reach for a fourth. I was starting to wonder if he was in fact a seasoned drinker and had somehow managed to frequently indulge without me catching him….

Aside from looking a bit pale, he didn't seem to be reacting to the alcohol at all…until about the sixth beer, that is. There was an almost instantaneous reaction as the alcohol really hit him. He went from looking pale to looking _sick_. The blank expression on his face fell into one that could not be mistaken for anything other than _massively depressed_. I really have never witnessed him looking so…well, _unwell_.

I instantly felt guilty. I shouldn't have let him keep drinking like that. I knew he wasn't used to it like me, and that the results would probably be bad. Now Aya's really ill, and it's all my fault. Way to go, Kudoh, further reinforce what an inconsiderate jerk you are.

If Aya had merely gotten sick, though, I could have handled it. It's a common reaction to drinking too much, I know what to do. I coulda given him something bland to eat and lots of water and some medicine. I know the best ways to clean up that sort of mess, I could have taken care of everything like a damn professional. But aside from _looking_ sick, Aya didn't really get particularly ill. Not in the physical sense, anyway. What happened was far, far worse. Aya emotionally fell apart.

His eyes started to glass over and become distant. I watched in horror as they became undeniably _wet_. Holee shit, was Aya starting to _cry_? He couldn't be 'cause that just doesn't happen. Ayas don't cry. They're not programmed to. Ayas get mad and pissed and sulky and brood…. On occasion they have even been known to be smug…. On good days they are thoughtful and quiet. But crying just doesn't fit into the equation of all that is 'Aya.'

Well, apparently I'm going to have to do some recalculating, because Aya does not only cry, but is capable of having a mental breakdown; which he proceeded to do while I sat and watched in helpless mortification.

I must say, hands down, tonight was utterly the most awkward moment of my entire life.

You know those dreams you get in school where you forget to study for a test and then accidentally show up to class naked only to run into your secret crush and watch them laugh their ass off at you? A frickin' cakewalk compared to how weird I felt watching Aya lose his cool.

It started with subtle tears which he tried to ignore, and obviously hoped would pass detection if he didn't draw attention to them. They became more frequent and his attempts to hide them only resulted in less and less control. Before long he was nearly hyperventilating.

I didn't know what to do. I felt like I was violating his privacy more than if I'd walked in on him in the bathroom or something. I wanted to leave, and let him cry himself out without the embarrassment of an observer who had no right to witness it. Had we been at home, I would have moved to another room until I knew he was better. But we were unfortunately in a single hotel room, and I had no immediate escape. It briefly crossed my mind to leave the hotel and maybe go hit a coffee shop or something so he could compose himself. But I didn't feel comfortable leaving him completely alone in such a state. If I could have moved to another room, at least I would have been in hearing distance in case he got sick or tried to hurt himself….

Tried to hurt himself? Would Aya ever attempt such a thing? A day ago I would have said no, but I no longer felt so confident about that….

Well as I could not leave in good conscience, I was pretty much trapped. All I could think was _Oh Hell, I broke him!_ Which was quickly followed by, _He is going to kill me after this._

Resigned, I decided to try and be comforting—not a skill I exceed at. My 'comfort repertoire' is pretty much exclusively tied to girls. There's probably been an incident or two which demanded my attention to Omi, but really, there's not a whole lot of difference there.

One of the really cool things about comforting girls is that they get upset more easily, so you can often comfort them without having the emotional strain of a serious problem to deal with afterwards. Like, this one girl I knew would start crying over stupid shit like getting a parking ticket or loosing her wallet. So I'd score some guilt-free snuggling with her and then hand her some cash and presto, problem solved. Hey, come to think of it, she was probably using me…. Huh.

Well, with Aya I most certainly lacked the luxury of solving his problems with cash, and I wasn't about to wrap my arms around him like I would with Lady sobs-a-lot either, hell, that would probably piss him off more than the fact that I was witnessing this in the first place. So I did the only thing I could think of. I gave him a firm brotherly pat on the shoulder.

I'd like to say that this caused him to snap out of it and everything went back to normal, and Aya stopped behaving like a creature from another dimension, and I had no lingering weird karma to deal with afterwards…but it didn't. What in fact happened, was Aya went limp, and my 'firm pat' caused him to fall over, where he proceeded to curl up and start shaking. So I tried again, this time I just put my hand on his arm and didn't make any sudden movements…. But at this point he barely seemed to be aware that I was there. We're talking complete withdrawal.

"Aya?" I lamely whisper, "Aya, are you okay?"

_Are you okay! _My brain mocks back at me, _of course he isn't okay, dumbass, he's in the friggin' fetal position! How many people have you seen acting like him who were okay? _

_He might be okay aside from being drunk_, I argue to myself.

_Ha! Fat chance! How many drunks have you seen who looked like THAT?_

_Aya isn't normal when he's sober, it stands to reason he would act equally weird when he is drunk. _I'm clutching at straws here.

_Stop fooling yourself, _my subconscious states with finality; _you're the worst friend ever._

"Aya…." I shake him gently, "Aya, snap out of it! You're okay, _nothings wrong_!"

"Everything's wrong…." Aya whimpers. At first I think he's answering me, but as he continues I realize he's talking to himself. "It's really over—_sniff_—I can't get it back...it couldn't ever be the same…."

I lean down so I can see his face better, "Please tell me what's wrong," I beg.

"No more stories," he mutters, "no more trips…or talking sewing needles…or—_sniff_—stupid games…or….."

_Talking sewing needles!_ I think Aya's lost it. I always suspected he'd be the first of us to snap…but not like _this_.

I pull Aya up so he's sitting; well slouching, to be a little more exact. Cautiously I make him turn to look at me.

"Aya. I'm _right here_. Listening. _Tell me what the matter is_."

He shakes his head. "Can't," he mumbles, "I promised her."

His quiet words hit me like a sledge hammer. _Her?_ Aya has a 'her'? A girlfriend maybe? Why does that thought make me sick to my stomach? It shouldn't bother me should it? No, I'm probably just bothered by the fact he kept her secret… I don't like when people close to me keep secrets. We never were close though, huh? I'm the right old hypocrite, we all kept secrets….

"Her?" I pry, hoping he'll drop a little more information.

"Aya," he sobs.

Aya? So now he's talking in the third person? I feel like we're going about in circles.

"But _you're _Aya." I point out.

He shakes his head, "Not Aya. Wish I was. It should have been me…." He starts shaking again.

I'm beyond confused. "If you're not Aya, who is? _Who are you?_"

"Said too much," He mutters with a wince, "I promised…doesn't matter it's gone anyway…."

Aya(?) looks so defeated that I throw away my better judgment and pull him into a hug. He can brutally dismember me later if he wants, I don't really care anymore.

He doesn't push me away. Instead I find him staring intently at the side of my head.

"Yes?" I ask puzzled.

"Your hair is _blond_," he states, as if he'd never noticed before.

"Um, yeah." I answer awkwardly, "It is. I'm only half Japanese."

"You look like a Hans." He says cryptically.

I'm not quite sure how to respond that _that_. Whatever the heck it means.

"I think Aya would have liked you." He says sadly, before closing his eyes.

Needless to say, I have a hell of a time falling asleep after _that_.


	11. Don't know what to do

"I don't know what to say, I don't know what to do…."

--AYA—

_OW._

Why. Does. My. Head. Feel. Like. There's. A. Railroad. Spike. Driven. Through. It.

….

I must be sick.

My chest feels heavy, and I'm way too warm. Last time I felt like this I had the flu….

_Shit._ I'll be useless for missions for at least a week!

Manx will be pissed. I shoulda taken more vitamins…or…something….

I need to get up and find some medicine…but my head hurts too much to move….

Did I do something to make me sick? _I can't remember._

Hang on…. I think my chest feels heavy because _something's on it_. What the….

….

There is an _arm_ on my chest.

WHY is there an arm on my chest?

And the more important question…who in the frickin' blazes does it belong to?

I'm scared to look.

I really really don't want to look.

So, of course I look.

….

I knew I didn't want to look.

WHY is _Yohji_ in my bed?

No, don't answer that. I'm positively certain I won't like it.

My instinct says to jump up and push him off, but 1) I think the sudden movement would make me pass out from pain, and 2) that would wake up Yohji, and he's the very last person I want to talk to right now.

Unfortunately, lying here not moving won't prevent him from eventually waking up anyway.

Damn.

Maybe if I pretend to be asleep he'll just go away?

Yeah right. He's been known to stay in bed for _days_.

I'm screwed.

I guess I'll just have to try to get out without waking him up. Well, this should be fun…..

I try shifting sideways very slowly. Yohji's arm responds by clamping down on me; he probably thinks I'm one of his stupid girlfriends. _Ew._ I don't want to elaborate on that thought….

Shifting the other way results in his head landing on my shoulder, and him breathing noisily in my ear. I might have to kill him for this.

It doesn't look like I'm going to manage to escape without waking him.

I should just get it over with and push him off, but when I said I didn't want to talk to him, I wasn't kidding. I have no clue why he's there, and it's a good bet the explanation is embarrassing. And Yohji, being the type of guy that he is, is never going to let it drop. I have _years _of harassment to look forward too, oh boy. So, not wanting to hasten my imminent mortification, I end up just lying here, stalling.

Damn, I wish I could remember what happened last night!

After a fairly long time spent with my eyes scrunched shut (pretending, rather unconvincingly, to be asleep,) I take the chance of opening one to check on my bedmate's status.

Mottled green oculars stare back.

Gah! How long has he been awake?

….

And if he's awake, why the bloody hell is he still hugging me?

I finally let my instinct step up, and push him off, hard.

Now it's _his _turn to go "Gah!"

If I wasn't so freaked out I would have enjoyed that.

We end up balancing on opposite ends of the bed, glaring at each other accusingly.

"What the hell was that for?" he cries, trying to look scandalized.

"What the hell are you asking me what the hell that was for?" I shout back, "Let's start with another question, like, _what the hell are you doing in my bed_?"

A smug expression creeps onto Yohji's face.

_Danger Aya Fujimiya, danger._

"Actually," he drawls, "this is _my_ bed; it's not my fault you decided to crawl into it."

I can actually _feel_ the color draining out of my face.

No way.

He can't be serious.

I would never _ever_ do…. But I can't remember what I did.

My distress must have been visible, because he grins and pats me on the shoulder. "Don't worry," he says cheerfully, "you were _great_."

_What?_

I…No. We…. Didn't. Wait, no, _WHAT_?

I'm throttling him before I even know what I'm doing. "_Die_."

Just as quickly my grip's lost and he has the advantage.

"_Chill out_," he says forcefully, "I was _joking_. Nothing happened."

My arms drop limply as he releases my wrists. "Christ," he mutters, rubbing the scenario in all the more, "I can't believe you really thought something happened."

"What was I supposed to think," I snap back, "waking up with someone like _you_ practically on top of me!"

That was…the wrong thing to say. But I always seem to pick the wrong thing to say.

He goes cold, "Would you care to fill me in on exactly what you mean by _someone like me_?" Were his eyes always that piercing? For the first time I have an inkling of how his victims feel right before he draws his garrote. Well, two can play at that game. He may have a better glare than I'd given him credit for, but he can't out-glare me.

"_Someone_," I reply icily, "who'd shag anything that _moves_."

If I thought his first glare was bad, the one that followed literally makes the room temperature drop several degrees.

"I never took you for someone that'd take reputations at face value, _Ayan_," he bites out, "I've been giving you too much credit."

Using that stupid nickname he'd invented was obviously calculated to drive the knife in further, and it did exactly that.

"You deny it then?" I hiss.

"I deny that I'd take advantage of a person too _drunk_ to even recognize who I was. What kind of sick bastard do you take me for?" The coldness collapses into an exhausted kind of hurt. I almost feel bad. _Almost_…. Hang on, is he saying I was _drunk_?

He reads the confusion on my face. "Don't give me that look," he says, "you weren't just drunk, you were _wrecked_. And don't even think of blaming me, you did it yourself."

Desperate to avert the awkwardness from myself, I accuse feebly, "What kind of answer was _that_? Are you saying you _would_ have taken advantage of me if I was sober!"

I expect of course, a look of disgust on his face followed by vehement denial of even _considering_ such a notion. Instead, to my shock, his expression goes blank. Then he frowns, and says carefully, "I don't take advantage of people."

"You're dodging the question," I say. All the forcefulness has left me now, I just feel uneasy. I can't read his face at all….

"No I'm not," he says folding his arms across his chest, "I have to say that I'm extremely disturbed that you seem to view me as some sort of sexual predator," his voice is tired and sad now, "I admit you're right, I have been around more than the average person, but I'd _never_ touch anyone without their consent. I'm not like that." Then he adds, "And I most certainly _don't_ 'shag anything that moves' as you put it, Christ."

"That's not what I meant by that question," my voice has gone funny now, no one's ever freaked me out quite this much before….

"Then you're going to have to re-phrase your question," he says dryly.

"Your wording implied that if I were consenting you'd be willing to shag _me_." I can barely get the words out, I'm sure my face is red.

He just blinks and then shrugs.

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" I squeak.

"I don't know," he says way too calmly, "I never really considered it until you put the idea in my head."

"You shouldn't have to consider it!" I find myself backing up, only to nearly fall on the floor, "And don't go putting that on me! It's your fault I got the wrong idea!"

"I at least _consider_ everything," he replies with irritation. "Just because I'll consider something doesn't mean I'll actually go for it," he rolls his eyes, "it's not my fault you have no sense of humor, I think what's really bothering you is that you're realizing that you might have _allowed_ yourself to be taken advantage of."

"I wouldn't have!" I cry desperately.

"Then why'd you think I had?" he throws back at me.

"If I was drunk you could have overpowered me." I say, the realization that I'm not going to win this battle of logic sinking in….

"Did you wake up with any injuries?" Yohji asks, the coldness creeping back into his voice.

I shake my head, not even capable of answering.

"Then I obviously didn't do anything to you without you letting me," he says with finality, "which is inconsequential since I didn't do a damn thing except make sure you passed out on a bed instead of the floor. You're welcome for that, by the way."

"Work out your own insecurities before you go attacking others," he mutters before locking himself in the bathroom and leaving me feeling very small and lost.

Forty minutes later he remerges; showered and composed. There's not a trace of lingering negativity from our row. In fact, he gives no indication whatsoever that this morning had even happened. How does he do that? I can barely look at him without flinching. My mind is a shattered mess of guilt and anger. _Why did I drink last night? I never drink. Why'd Yohji let me? He acts like he's my friend, but just because he didn't make me drink doesn't shunt all his responsibility. He was obviously there, he could have stopped me. How much is he really telling me, anyway, he's definitely holding something back; something happened, it might not be what we were fighting about, but something definitely happened. Damn him, how can he act so normal!_

"So," he announces casually, "where to today, Rokuonji?"

My jaw drops. He's willing to just go along and keep visiting temples after all of that? If I were him I would have snuck out and driven off, leaving me to get home by myself. Why is he still planning on following _my _agenda? I'm confused. I don't understand Yohji at all.

I shake my head. I don't feel like going to temples in this weird mood he's put me in. I wouldn't be able to concentrate on Aya chan at all. "You decide," I say quietly, only because I'm at a loss for what else to do beside my original plan.

"Hmm," he muses, "I'd really like to check out the philosopher's path."

That raises my suspicions at once. It sounds entirely like a suggestion formulated to appeal to _me_, not him. What's he plotting?

"Why?" I ask skeptically.

"It's supposed to be one of the best places to see the cherry trees round here, you know," he replies.

"It's the wrong season," I point out, "there aren't any cherry blossoms." Is he really that dumb?

"I have a good imagination," he shrugs. "Do you have a better suggestion?"

As I don't, I somehow find myself reluctantly trailing after my maddening coworker beneath the row of cherry trees that line the walk along a stream through the middle of the city.

I still have a headache, but I'm too stubborn to ask Yohji to stop so I can buy some painkillers. He's obliviously walking along and commenting on the trees, which by the misfortune of the season are no more special looking than any other tree we might have passed within the city. Despite this, I'm trying very hard to find them interesting. I'm constantly diverting my attention to the stream and trying to find _that_ interesting. But my traitorous throbbing head is stuck on finding only one thing interesting today, and that is the lanky blond strolling ahead of me. Lanky? I usually regard him as _irritatingly thin_. When did he become _lanky_?

I silently curse myself out. Last night, I apparently drank myself into permanent brain damage. There is no way I would have such weird thoughts about Yohji otherwise. I've given myself brain damage, and my broken mind simply can't move past the stupid ideas that Yohji planted in it this morning. He's going to pay for this.

The next thing I know there's a hand waving in my face. "Yo. Aya, _wake up_." Yohji's saying.

I stop and blink at him. "What?"

"Are you okay? You totally spaced out and you look kind of ill."

"Headache," I mutter.

"Oh," he nods and rummages in his pocket for a minute. "Here."

I look at the pills in his hand suspiciously. It's not any brand I'm familiar with. "What are they?" I ask.

"Medicine for hangovers," he says. As I've never before had to deal with a hangover, I suppose it's not surprising that I don't recognize them. My rationality is yelling at me not to take strange medicine I've never seen before, but the headache wins. If Yohji's trying to poison me, then at least I won't have to deal with weird thoughts about him anymore.

When did I become so cynical?

"You need food," he announces and proceeds to drag me into a nearby café without stopping to hear my perspective on the subject.


	12. Funny how I couldn't see

"Funny how I couldn't see;

This is not at all about you

It's about me."

--Yohji—

I'm so screwed.

All this time I thought I needed a vacation. I thought I towed Aya along out of a simple process of elimination. I thought I _knew_ everything I knew.

My subconscious apparently had a hidden agenda.

I didn't want a vacation; I wanted one-on-one time with Aya.

Oh my god, I have a thing for Aya.

You don't get much more screwed than that.

While my subconscious was stupid enough to develop this unhealthy infatuation, it at least had the foresight to realize that it was condemning me to a one way trip to miseryville. So my treacherous subconscious has kept those sentiments nicely buried. Which would have been just swell if Aya hadn't thrown the notion of us being 'together' in my face and forced me to think about it.

I did a lot of thinking in the shower this morning. I found that while I was extremely offended by the nature of Aya's accusations, the subject matter didn't faze me in the least. In fact, to my surprise, I found myself wishing he hadn't woken up so soon, because I'd been rather enjoying lying in bed and for once not feeling _alone_. Aya obviously did _not _enjoy the company, which leads me back to being screwed.

It doesn't take an expert to predict that Aya wouldn't go for me. Aya hasn't especially gone for anyone. The closest he came to expressing that kind of interest was in a girl. A very young, pretty, naïve, vulnerable girl, might I add. Notice how I don't exactly fit into any of those categories.

For those of you not paying attention, let me reiterate. Screwed; that which Yohji Kudoh is.

So what am I going to do? I can't let him _know_. By all means, fessing up to him would be like writing my own death warrant, signing it in blood, and then handing it to the executioner, first person. Exaggerating, I am not. After this morning there is no way in the depths of Hell that he'll take the news and actually believe that I had no dubious intentions when I nicked him. I'll be back to being some kind of creepy predator in his eyes. Thanks, but no thanks. I'd like to stay on speaking terms with the guy, if at all possible.

It's a good thing I've had so much practice acting cool regardless of the situation. Otherwise I wouldn't be screwed, I'd be _dead_.

I can't tell if he's on to me or not. I don't think he is, luckily my reputation pretty much only applies to girls. So assuming I convinced him of my innocence this morning (and I think I did, he looked thoroughly guilty when I got out of the shower,) I should be safe. Should be. Now I have to watch my every move and word I say. Because if I accidentally let out something with any sort of double innuendo, I can trust Aya to instantly pick it up and take it the wrong way. Looks like I've got my work cut out for me.

The fact that every second he thinks I'm not looking he's spent _staring_ at me is NOT helping. Especially since I wanted to stare at _him_, and now I can't, damnit.

I just dragged him into a café. He admitted to having a headache, but I suspect the hangover probably has him sick to his stomach too. He might not know it, but he needs to eat. He apparently finds my insistence on this weird, and it's only increased the staring. I don't know if I will make it through the day.

"So, what do you want?" I ask, pointedly looking everywhere _except _at Aya. He makes a noncommittal grumble and continues to visually bore a hole through my head. "Oookay…." I say, and order some melon bread and coffee. This buys me a reprieve, as he is now staring at the melon bread; obviously not what he would have ordered. Oh well, I suppose he'll live…even if I don't.

I nervously go through three cups of coffee and he's barely touched his one. His attention is focused on shredding the bread beyond recognition. This suits me just fine, because with his attention on the bread I'm free to have my attention on him. And boy, is it ever on him….

There's such a contrast between now and last's night's drunken Aya. Now that he seems to be himself again, it's safe to dwell on when he wasn't. I always suspected that Aya had a lot of stuff pent up inside, but it proved to be much worse than I'd imagined. But he only gave me enough of a glimpse to see it was there, whatever he was crying about remains cryptic. I want to know exactly what he was talking about last night. I want a clear view inside Aya's head. I want Aya to come to me and cry without being drunk. _Ha_. Like _that_ will ever happen. Oh man, I've got it _bad._

And…was he always that attractive? I suppose he was, I just didn't let myself notice. Oh hell, even the way he's grumpily mutilating his breakfast is incredibly hot. I don't think I'm going to be able to handle this. I should probably just end this whole thing and take us home. But. But I don't _want_ to. If we go back to the shop he'll have no reason to talk to me anymore. He'll be able to ignore me until it's time for him to yell at me for whatever I've screwed up at work. I'll have to make sure I go out _every_ night because being around him and being ignored will be unbearable. No. I definitely don't want to go home yet. Hello rock, hello hard place. I guess I should just settle down and make myself nice and comfy.

Oh crap. He's gone back to staring at me, which means he just totally caught me staring at him. Busted. I need something to divert my attention…ah; a waitress. He'll totally believe me staring at a waitress.

I'm trying very hard to watch the waitress. But, quite frankly, she's a total dog. I've never been so uninterested in a waitress as I am right now. She's so _perky_. Every time she smiles at us I want to cringe. But I can't cringe because I'm pretending to be interested in her. And she has curly hair. I hate curly hair. I can't believe I used to have a thing for Manx with those gravity-defying curls of hers. But she had the fact that her hair was red going for her. Yeah this waitress would totally look better as a redhead. And she needs to lose the pink dress. She'd totally improve her look with black. Everyone looks better in black. Except for Aya. Although he usually wears black (and looks quite smashing in it I might add,) Aya looks good in any color. Even orange. How someone with his coloring can pull off orange is beyond me. _I_ can't even pull off orange. But Aya does, and looks damned sexy in it. Oh shit, I am doing the worst job ever of not paying attention to him.

It doesn't look like Aya intends to touch any more of his food, so I signal for the check. The check comes with a slip of paper with a phone number on it. This time I'm not able to stop myself cringing. Well at least my acting fooled _someone_, though it was entirely the wrong person. My reaction causes Aya to snort. Well I'm glad he's amused, because I'm sure as hell not. I pay our bill and the waitress winks at me. I should hit on her or something to keep up appearances, but knowing that she'd go for it, I can't bring myself to do it. Aya's smirking. He can tell I'm completely weirded out and he's enjoying himself, damnit. I want to wipe that smirk right off his face. No I don't. I want to _kiss_ that smirk right off his face. Gaaaah. I need to get out of here.

"Let's go to Nara," I find myself announcing. Where did _that_ thought come from? Oh well, a change of scenery would be good, I suppose. Aya looks surprised and then shrugs. He doesn't seem to care one way or another.

So, in what seems no time at all we're checked out of the hotel and back in my car. Nara's not far so I don't have to worry too much about the long awkward silences which are inevitably coming.

I need not have worried about silences at all, as I find myself unable to shut up. Sometimes when I'm nervous I just start talking. Half the time I don't even know what I'm about to say. Like now. "Let's go camping," I spontaneously declare. Aya gives me a strange look and then shrugs. I don't know what made me think of camping, but it suddenly seems like a good idea. Camping is totally macho, and I'm quite good at it, if I do say so myself.

Yeah!

I can't believe I never thought of it before.

The ruggedness! The survival!

Aya will never pick up on the true nature of my feelings if I'm busy chopping wood and building manly fires!

And—ooh! Maybe a bear will show up and I'll get to save him from—

Hold that thought Kudoh. The point of this expedition is to keep him from suspecting me, not to seduce him. Anyway, like he'd need me to save him from a stupid bear. Hell, he'd probably end up saving _me_.

….

Oh Hell. I'd really like it if he saved me from a stupid bear.

"Wipe that creepy grin off your face."

Huh?

I turn to find Aya glaring at me. What'd I do now?

My puzzlement must be visible, because he adds, "Should I be worried about whatever aspect of camping it is which causes you to grin like a lecherous wolf?"

"What?" To say that I'm horrified by Aya's perceptiveness would be an understatement.

"You look like the cat that just ate the canary _and_ the goldfish," he says dryly, "it's kind of weirding me out."

"No I don't." Wow. I just reached a new low for 'lamest comeback ever.'

He sighs. "You need to learn when to give up, Kudoh. You're the worst liar I've ever met."

"I suppose you're a professional," I mutter, trying to steer his attention away from _me_.

"Compared to you I'm a gold medalist."

"Prove it."

"Okay, I will."

"Go ahead then," I egg him on, "lie to me and make me believe it."

"I love camping," is his deadpan reply.

"Ha, ha," I mutter, "a liar _and_ a comedian, I've hit the frickin' lottery."

"You're the one who bought the ticket," he mumbles and then turns to go back to staring out the window.

Not sure how to answer that, I remain silent and turn my attention back to the road.

A sudden rustling of paper interrupts my concentration. Aya has mysteriously produced some kind of map out of thin air.

"What's that?" I ask, already knowing the answer, but not sure of what else to say.

"A map."

Duh. I was hoping for a little elaboration there, Aya-babe.

"Of what?"

"Kyoto and the surrounding prefectures," he mutters.

"Where'd you get that?"

"The café had a rack of tourist brochures next to the front desk," he rolls his eyes, "but I suppose you were too busy visually feeling up the waitress to notice."

"Hey! I wasn't—" oh wait. I'm supposed to be convincing Aya I _like_ waitresses, not giving myself away….

"Wasn't what?" A skeptical arch of an eyebrow….

"Wasn't—erm—looking for brochures."

"Of course you weren't."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Aya has a real talent for insulting you without actually using insults.

"Are you going to argue with me if I claim that planning ahead is far from being your forte?"

I open my mouth to protest, make brief eye contact, and then shut it. He has a point. Time to change the subject.

"I suppose you're picking out temples to visit," I ask, with forced resignation.

For a second, I _almost _think I catch him crack a smile, but the veil of seriousness is back in place so quickly that I might have imagined it.

"There are some very important historic sites in Nara," he says softly. "It would be a crime to miss them."

"I'm sure," I make sure to sound bored, I don't want him to notice that I'm actually interested—merely because _he's _interested. "So, what tediously educational establishments are you planning on dragging me to _this _time round?

I'm met with a frown. "I never said you had to come with me."

"I never said I didn't want to."

"Yes you did!" The frown deepens.

"No I didn't."

"You just implied—"

"Implied what?"

"That you'd be bored," he exclaims in exasperation.

"Anticipating boredom and desiring social exclusion are entirely different matters," I announce.

"You're impossible," he sighs.

"I work hard at it," I reply smugly.

Aya shakes his head and refuses to answer.

"You still haven't told me where we're going—when we're not roughing it, of course," I remind him.

"Oh."

If Aya were any normal person, I would have said that he's rather flustered at this point. But Aya, being Aya and _not _any 'normal person' is only 'moderately less composed than the status quo.' I'd be lying if I said I didn't take some perverse pleasure in causing Aya to lose composure. It's developed into somewhat of a hobby of mine.

Aya folds the brochure and points to a photograph of a gigantic wooden Buddha statue.

It's pretty familiar looking; I think I learned about it in school at some point. Though damned if I can remember more about it than the fact that it's really, really old.

Still pointing at the Buddha, Aya makes eye contact with me and says casually, "I've always wanted to visit Asuka Daibutsu."

With the name 'Asuka' barely out of his mouth, I find myself having a horrible and rather vivid flashback.

I don't think I need to tell anyone of the subject matter.

It only lasts a moment, but when I snap back to reality, I find Aya yelling at me for some reason.

The reason doesn't remain a mystery for long.

Returning my attention to the road finds us in the wrong lane of the highway. And if I'm not mistaken, those headlights in front of us belong to a semi.

Well, _shit_.


	13. I saw you in a dream

**A/N:** In this chapter Aya makes a bunch of references to things he said in chapter 1. So if it's been a long time (like 2 years, heh) since you read the beginning of the story, you might want to skim over the first chapter before reading this one.

"Long before I ever saw your face  
I got to know you in a dream

So goodnight  
I'm going to bed  
I'm falling upstairs to meet you  
I wake up with memories in my head  
I'm someone else instead"

--AYA—

Why did I do that?

My hand is still frozen to the wheel, and I'm splayed across Yohji's lap from the force of swerving the car off the road.

A glance in his direction reveals the same wide-eyed, glazed over expression he'd worn when he lost control of the car.

I find myself smacking him in the head.

"You _idiot_."

I'm not sure if I'm more pissed at him for almost killing us or at myself for stopping him.

I always thought that if I saw an easy way to die I'd take it.

Not on a mission of course. I'd never simply give up on a mission. But I've often found myself fantasizing about accidents that would give me a way out.

Like in the flower shop, for example. I'd never admit this out loud, but I made it a habit to never quite stack the pots on the upper shelves levelly. I really hoped one of these days they'd fall and brain me.

I never followed the directions when I sprayed the plants with pesticides, either. Protective face-gear is for people who want to live, ha.

You know, that probably attributed to why I'm having such a hard time catching my breath right now….

My assault on Yohji shakes him out of his stupor. He reacts in his usual manner of trying to turn everything into a joke.

"Aya! I didn't—ha—know you cared."

"I don't, moron," I mutter.

The fake cheerful expression plastered across his face drops away like quicksilver.

"Then why did you…?"

"I didn't have time to think about it," I cut him off, "I just reacted."

"Oh." Yohji returns to staring off into space.

I try getting up, but Yohji's arm has fallen across me, and in his catatonic state it's pure dead weight. My awkward position makes it embarrassingly difficult to shove it off.

"_Move._" I snarl.

Instead of complying I feel his muscles tighten. He's deliberately pinning me down, the bastard!

"Do you regret it?" I've never heard his voice sound so _dead_.

"What?"

"If you regret it, we can do it again," he lets out a creepy, strained chuckle. "No swerving, second round, eh?"

The anger his words spark in me provides the strength to shove his arm off and straighten myself.

This time the smack is upgraded to a good old fashioned punch to the gut. I hit him hard enough that he should react, but he doesn't even blink.

"Have you finally _lost your mind_?" I scream at him, "Do you _think_ I want to die in a goddamned car accident with an idiot like you?" That last sentenced finished meaner than I intended it to….

A shrug. "Maybe."

"Well I DON'T" I holler, "If that's the way _you _want to go, then count me the hell out. It'll have to be a one man mission—"

"Okay."

"_What?_" He's not frickin' serious.

"Get out of the car," he nods towards the passenger door.

"Yohji…" my voice lowers automatically, "please tell me you're joking."

Instead of an answer I get another nod at my door.

"You're mad."

"I'm tired," his eyes slide shut, "I give up."

"Like hell you do," I take advantage of his eyes being shut to wrench the keys out of the ignition and toss them over the side. They arc gracefully before disappearing with a shimmer into the grass along the wayside.

This, I anticipate, to be an act of war. Seven is only Yohji's most treasured material possession; a deliberate destruction of any part of it being nothing short of suicide. I brace myself for his attack.

The lack of physical assault on my person causes me to look at him again. He's…not really doing anything.

"Yohji?" I poke him.

"What?" He sounds…almost…_bored_.

"Aren't you going to kill me for tossing your keys?"

"Nah," he shrugs, "I can still just run into traffic."

"Don't you _dare_." I find myself on his lap again—though this time it's me who's pinning _him_.

"I thought you didn't care," he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't—I mean I…I…." Well, shit. He's got me there. What happened between my own suicidal thoughts of five minutes ago, and now? When did I start to give a damn about what happens to Yohji? I can't bring myself to spout out any of the emotional bullshit that I know he wants to hear. I trust him to be smart enough to interpret my lack of further denial for what it means.

A few awkward minutes elapse where I remain on top of him. While I trust him to interpret my silence correctly, I _don't_ trust him not to still do something idiotic.

"Well," he says, a smile slowly creeping across his face, "we can't very well drive the car without keys, so now I guess we _have _to go camping, don't we?"

"Arrgh, you _idiot_." I mutter through gritted teeth; though this time the repeated insult is not directed at Yohji.

….

"We don't have any camping gear," I point out, hoping to talk some sense into the raving lunatic who is now rummaging through the trunk of the car.

"Emergency car blanket," he declares, and yanks out a dingy, ratty mess that looks more like a fire hazard than a blanket.

I shoot him a skeptical look but remain silent.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Yohji says impatiently, slinging the blanket over his shoulder, "Come on, let's go."

"Let's go?" I ask incredulously, "That's it? One cruddy blanket, and 'let's go'? No cooking supplies, matches, not even a _second blanket_? Let's _go_?"

"It's too hot to sleep under a blanket, so all we really need is the one for a mattress," he says, as if this was obvious and _I'm _the crazy one.

"Who the hell said I was willing to share a blanket with you ANYWAY?" I'm starting to lose my temper, I shouldn't have signed up for this mindless trip to begin with, I certainly never volunteered for _this_.

"You're welcome to sleep on leaves if you prefer it," Yohji mutters irritably, "it is _my_ blanket. I was trying to be nice."

"Oh, don't get me wrong, you're a bloody philanthropist _Kudoh_."

"Lighten up, it's not like I'm asking you to sleep _under_ a blanket together."

"LIGHTEN UP!" I scream, "I'm stranded next to the highway, hours from home, with no food or water, and nothing but a grimy blanket and an insane man for company! This IS 'lightened up.' _Normal_ Aya would be strangling you with the blanket right now, you goddamned freak!"

"To the casual passerby," he says dryly, "_you're _the one who appears to be the insane man, you know."

"The casual passerby is an idiot," I mutter. But I'm left with nothing else to say, and it seems, nothing to do but resign myself and follow him.

….

Sometimes, it seems, that no matter where you go in the country, the mountains--or at least some hills anyway--are never far away. The outskirts of Nara are no exception. It doesn't take too long of a trek to find a nice elevated woodsy place to stop.

"Perfect!" Yohji beems.

"Yeah, perfect," I mumble sarcastically. "Perfectly cold and dark and miserable. Though I suppose if you were an insect-eating aborigine it would have a nice homely feel to it."

He ignores me in favor of making a pile of sticks and dried grass.

"Do you have any matches?" I ask. I have the suspicion he's run out because I haven't seen him smoke since our little fiasco began.

"Don't need matches," he replies, without stopping whatever it is he's doing.

"I don't believe you," I say crossing my hands over my chest, "you can't even survive a day without a hair dryer and a coffee machine, like hell you can start a fire without matches."

"Oh yeah?" he says. The amusement on his face ought to warn me, but I genuinely can't comprehend this guy in front of me having those sort of skills. "Wanna Bet?"

"Yeah," I say slowly, "I do wanna bet."

"Okay," he replies, "I win; you're sharing my blanket and not complaining about it."

A snort involuntarily escapes me. I can't help it; Yohji just had the opportunity to demand all sorts of devious obligations of me, and all he asks is that I not complain about his crappy blanket? He could have made me work all his shifts for a month or hit on Manx or something equally humiliating. I'm almost disappointed in his lack of creativity. Almost. I don't actually _want_ to be obligated to do any of those things. Not that I expect him to win, anyway.

"Alright," I nod, "If I win we go back to the car and call a locksmith." Ha. Looks like I just scored myself a real (and Yohji-free) bed tonight. I hope he gives up quickly and doesn't drag this out till after dark….

I've barely finished congratulating myself before Yohji has produced a rock and a stick or something along those lines, and within five minutes has somehow created a small, but steadily growing flame.

Well, damn. How'd he do that?

I'm standing, completely dumbstruck, as he tosses the car blanket at me.

"Why don't you make the bed up for us, eh?" he laughs, the jerk, "I'm going to find us some dinner. Venison okay?"

The ending question distracts me from the degrading gesture of the blanket. "Vension?" I ask, "Don't you _dare_. We're in _Nara_. The deer here are a docile, overfed _tourist attraction_. That'd be like eating Momoe san's cat." I shiver involuntarily at the thought.

Yohji blanches slightly. I doubt he had looked at it from that perspective before. "Um," he ponders, "rabbit then? I bet I could find a rabbit or something."

I shake my head. It probably seems stupid, but my mind can't let go of my fixation on fairy tale quests. Forests are full of enchanted animals, Yohji could be killing some bespelled person; someone's _sister_ even….

You know, maybe when we get home I should take Omi's advice and see a therapist.

Yohji rolls his eyes and sighs dramatically. "Okay, a feast fit for the squirrels it is, then. I'll see if I can find a wild turnip for you, oh fussy one."

I'm left speechless as he stomps off into the trees. Not knowing what else to do, I neatly lay the blanket by the fire, and sit down to wait.

….

After about 45 minutes or so, Yohji returns, with pockets bulging.

From one he produces a handful of small knobbly apples, and from the other some dirty brown root-like things.

"What are those?" I ask with distaste, motioning toward the brown things.

"I have no idea," he answers, and drops them on top of a rock which he's placed in the fire.

"What?" I ask, "How do you know we can eat them if you don't even know what they are?"

"I saw a rabbit eating them," he says. "First rule of the wilderness is 'eat what the animals eat.'"

I can't help giving him a strange look, "Since when did you become Robinson Crusoe, anyway?"

He returns my look with an utterly unreadable one, "The real question, I think," he says, "is, 'since when did you find me interesting enough to care?'"

Okay, I don't really have an answer for that. Time to awkwardly stare at our dinner. Yup, slowly cooking dirty brown things are sooo interesting….

"Apple?" he asks, amicably.

I sigh and hold out my hand. "How'd you learn to start a fire like that?" I hope to distract him from the awkwardness with a non-judgmental question.

"I taught myself when I was eleven," he explains, "out of a book."

A book? Yohji? Little Yohji reading? My mind can't seem to form a believable picture out of this information. Somehow I'd always just imagined younger Yohji as a slut-in-training or something….

"Um, your parents let you start fires at that age?" I ask.

"My parents didn't know about it," he gives me a sly smile.

Okay, that's a little closer to my mental image of young Yohji. But still, kinda weird.

"If you're going to ask me these kind of questions," he says, pulling the rooty things out of the fire and peeling them, "then I expect some information in return."

"Anything I'd tell you would just make me sound crazy."

"I already think you're a nut case," he says cheerfully, "so you've nothing to lose."

_Uh oh_. I can't go spilling my past to Yohji! My mission. Have I forgotten my mission? I made a vow of silence to Aya. Telling Yohji the sort of things I'm sure he wants to know would be like giving up on Aya. I'd be betraying her; sealing the enchantment. I'd…shit. I'm thinking like a crazy person again.

"I liked to read when I was a kid too," I offer cautiously, "but I never read anything useful like you did." With that my mouth is sealed. I shove a piece of the freshly cooked…thing…into it to prove my point. Ew, it's bitter.

Yohji has been watching me intently and looks disappointed when I stuff my face. Sorry pal, but that's all you're going to get.

He stares at the fire a minute, and then, as if it's nothing—nothing!—he casually begins to unbutton his shirt.

"What do you think you're doing!" I squeak.

"Getting ready for bed," he gives me a questioning look. "What, you don't expect me to sleep in my clothes do you?"

"YES!" I cry. I'm trying to avert my eyes, but at the same time I'm paralyzed with horror watching to see what he'll do next.

What he does next is drop his shirt on the ground and start working on his pants.

I swear, he had _better_ be wearing underwear under those, or by god I'm going to kill him. Yohji Kudoh will have an unmarked grave on the side of a hill with nothing but nasty tasting root things to keep him company. And he'll deserve every last bit of it.

My sanity, by luck, is spared, and my imagination left intact. Yohji is not only wearing underwear, but to my surprise he's wearing perfectly normal and non-threatening boxer shorts. Once again, I find Yohji surprising me. If I could actually admit to myself having pondered the scenario, I would have expected him to possess far more scandalous undergarments.

Did I say "normal"? Okay, they're not exactly normal. His shorts are covered with the predictably tasteful phrase 'I heart Me.'

Upon reading their message, I nearly choke on my dinner.

"What?" he asks with a frown.

"Your…shorts…." I can barely get the words out, I can't stop laughing.

"What's wrong with them?" his frown deepens.

"Those are _girls_ shorts!" I cry with glee, "Oh my god—ha ha—the great Yohji Kudoh wears girls underwear, ha ha ha!"

"How the HELL do you know that?" he asks with dismay, looking down at the item in question, "They're just boxer shorts!"

"Yeah," I wheeze, "but they're the kind they sell to girls for pajamas. I _saw_ that exact same pair at a trendy girly store."

"In other words," he says pointing at me, "you've been patronizing girl stores _too_. The pot's calling the kettle black, eh?"

The laughter dies in my throat. _Crap_. I can't very well tell him I used to take my little sister shopping on a regular basis, can I? He doesn't seem to know about Aya, and I'd like to keep it that way….

"I…um…" I stutter lamely, "I just saw them through the store front…."

"Like hell you did," he's leaning in on me to a rather unsettling effect, "no store keeps the unmentionables in the front. This stuff is always at the back of the shop."

He's got me there. I try again, knowing before I start that he won't believe me. "Sakura dragged me shopping one time, I must have seen them then…."

"Oh just quit while you're ahead," he's leaning in _closer_—shit! "It's not like I _mind_ or anything, I think it's rather sexy, actually…."

_Why is he looking at me the way he's looking at me? What the hell does that look even mean? Why—_

He cuts off my panic attack with an explanation; "Okay, you caught me, anyway. Guy's clothes don't fit me right, I'm too thin. If I want to wear tight clothes I have to get them from Girl's stores. It's not like the stuff I buy is actually _girly_, anyway, I certainly haven't been getting any complaints."

I raise an eyebrow.

"Okay, congratulations, you're my first complaint." He mutters dramatically.

I decide to keep giving him a hard time, he deserves it.

"Those aren't tight," I say, pointing, "so what's your excuse there?"

"Hmm?" He looks down, "Who needs an excuse? I thought they were cute."

"You would," I mutter.

"Maybe if you had a pair you wouldn't be so grouchy," he mutters back.

"Oh yes," my answer's dripping with sarcasm, "the secret to happiness is underwear, why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"If I thought you'd listen, I would have," he states, simply.

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"It means I'd love to see you in my underwear," he says in a barely audible voice. His voice was so low, maybe I heard him wrong. Please oh please let me have heard him wrong….

I throw his pants at him, "For the love of all that's holy put your clothes back on!"

"No can do," he says, and pulls a silver flask out of the pocket of his jeans. "But thanks, I was thirsty."

I give up and plop backwards. If I'm staring at the sky then I don't have to look at barely dressed Yohji.

"Want some?" he asks, and holds out the flask. I grab it. I'm too exasperated to care about consequences right now. Besides, one little flask can't possibly hold enough liquor to mess me up…right?

_Krack-a-boom!_

I jump a little at the noise. "What was that?"

"Heat lightning, I think," Yohji answers with a shrug. "Did you see the flash?"

"No," I jump again, despite myself, at a second cracking noise. "Okay, I saw it that time."

"That was weird," Yohji says softly, and lays down next to me on the blanket—hey does he have to lie so close to me, it's a big blanket— "The lightening was behind us the first time; but that one was in front of us."

"It seems far away though," I say cautiously.

"I'm pretty sure it is, it looked like it was over the other mountains."

The next flash comes from an entirely different direction. "It seems…" I say, "…to be everywhere except over us."

"It does," Yohji's voice is almost awestruck. He takes the flask back from me and takes a swig.

We watch in silence as the sky flashes shades of grey and green.

"It's kinda creepy," I murmur, "I feel like we're in a ghost story."

"Nah," he says, and turns so that he's looking me in the face, "being in the middle of nowhere, no noise but cicadas and lightening, an almost supernatural light show that probably no one but us is noticing…feels more like a _romance_ story to me."

The word "_What?_" is barely out of my mouth before I find myself barely able to breathe and battling the not exactly invited intrusion of one very wet and slimy tongue in said mouth.

Oh. My. God. _Yohji's_. Tongue. Is. In. _My_. Mouth.

I freeze while my brain tries to process this somewhat disturbing information.

It's not doing so good a job processing, so it seems.

My brain, it turns out, is utterly unnecessary in this scenario, as the cloying taste of alcohol mixed with the foreign sensation of something so, well, _foreign_, sets off my gag reflex and my arms push him off of me, no thinking required.

Now, in my defense, had he warned me first, I might not have reacted so badly. True, that had he warned me, he would have received an elbow in the chest instead of compliance, but just rhetorically speaking, had he warned me, and had I _expected_ to suddenly find a warm and slippery _thing_ in my very personal space, I wouldn't have found myself gagging and freaking out. Alas.

"What was _that_ about?" I shriek.

Yohji, to his credit, looks positively horrified as he realizes what he's just done.

"I—ah—shit—I—I'm…sorry." He trails off rather pathetically.

"I didn't ask if you were _sorry_," I cry hysterically, "I asked what was that _about_!"

"…." Yohji, apparently, has lost his ability to articulate. He also—for the first time I can remember, honest to god, including missions—looks terrified.

What business does he have being terrified! That's _my_ right, he brought this upon himself!

"…ing you." He mutters something I can't quite catch.

"WHAT?" I yell. I know I shouldn't be quite this upset. But that was my first kiss goddamnit, and it was _horrible_. What the hell, I thought Yohji was supposed to be _good_ at that sort of thing! Christ what am I thinking, anyway, it's upsetting simply because it was Yohji doing it! Would it have even mattered if it was good?

"It's about," Yohji speaks up, a pitiful hopeless expression on his face, "me…liking you." He turns over on his side so he's no longer facing me and covers the side of his head with his arm.

My hysterical fit is stopped dead in its tracks.

Huh?

I expected his excuse to be something lame like "All that electricity was turning me on," or "You looked sexy in the firelight;" something typically Yohji, something I could have been righteously pissed off about. I did _not_ expect an earnest confession of genuine feelings. Damnit Yohji, stop throwing me for a loop like this!

"But," I say stupidly, "you like girls."

He turns to look at me again. "Ten minutes ago," he says blandly, "you were all too happy to discover that I shop in Girl stores. Now do you really think that someone like that is terribly hung up over distinctions of gender?"

Shit, he has a point.

That doesn't mean his point makes sense though.

Yohji _likes_ me? What the blazes does a guy like Yohji have any business liking a guy like me! I've—not that I'm proud of this—but I've never even been nice to him.

He was dropping hints all night though, I suppose. I just couldn't _believe_ them….

"Can we just skip over the angst," he says miserably, "and move on to pretending it never happened?"

"Oh great," I mutter as I lay back down and stare up at the sky, "so if you just pretend it never happened, does that mean your first kiss doesn't count?"

"That was your first….Shit, I'm sorry Aya…."

Damn! Why did I tell him that! Am I some kind of masochist? Yes, apparently.

"Gah, I'm such a screw up."

"If you're waiting for me to argue with that," I say, "don't hold your breath."

He laughs, in a nerve-wracked, broken kind of way.

We lie in silence for a while; both desperate for the bliss of unconsciousness, and both, for obvious reasons, very far from getting there.

"It's almost always better the second time, you know," Yohji offers quietly.

Not sure how to respond, I settle for a nice, noncommittal "Mn."

While waiting for sleep, I'm trying to focus on the predicament that faces us when we return to the car—we're still keyless and stranded on the side of the road. Not to mention, once we solve that problem, do we continue on our trip? It'd be terribly awkward now though, with this little turn of events behind us….

My practical thoughts however, keep getting nudged and poked around the edges by subtle, very unwelcome thoughts. Every now and then one of them manages to slip through, and I find myself wondering _would the second time really be better? If Yohji had been a little more chaste, would the first time have been better? _And most worryingly, _had the first time BEEN better, would I have still pushed him off?_

Yes. I tell myself. Of course I would have.

_You're not really sure though, are you?_

Shut up. I say in my head. Shut up shut up shut up.

And then, more unwelcome than any of these sneaky, but mostly harmless thoughts, is the crashing realization of something quite disturbing.

This whole, effed-up evening, including every awkward moment, courtesy of Yohji, makes complete and utter sense. It doesn't just make sense; it fits into my insane, deluded life-plan that I've thinly veiled as a "mission."

Yohji is the goddamned King in the forest. And vow of silence or not, he's going to fucking get to me.


	14. Empty Spaces

"What are we gonna use to fill there empty spaces?"

-Omi-

It's been a few days, and we haven't even gotten a lousy phone call. I can tell that even Ken's starting to doubt they're coming back. He's still putting up a cheerful front of course. He's desperately trying to be upbeat for my sake. But I've heard him cussing out Aya and Yohji when he thinks I'm out of earshot. He's pretty pissed at them. If they actually come back (big emphasis on the _if_,) there'll be a rather amusing showdown I expect. One that will make Aya and Ken's introduction look like a damned tea party. I really hope I get to see it.

Ken should really give up on his whole "cheer Omi up" mission. I'm not as easily manipulated as those little kids he coaches. And I'm not worth the effort either. One day he's going to realize it's a lost case and move on with his life. I want that day to come sooner rather than later. Like ripping off a band aide. There's nothing worse than false hope.

In the meantime he's smothering me.

I think if I have to spend another nanosecond with this new, artificially optimistic, hell-bent to create some sense of false normalcy, version of Ken, I'll go nuts. Literally. I can feel my sanity cracking around the edges.

So I've been trying to escape the apartment as much as possible. It's a risky endeavor, because Ken usually goes looking for me and if he finds me he's even worse than before.

But I'm fairly confident that today I'm safe. I'm hiding in plain sight, in a place I only ever go to if I'm searching for _Ken_. The soccer field is where he goes when he wants to be alone, not where he'd go looking for anyone else.

I'm just lying here in a deserted field, starring at an overcast sky. Ideal brooding conditions if I ever saw any.

I'm trying not to dwell on Aya and Yohji, but their abandonment is a dark shadow endlessly creeping around the edges of my consciousness. I have to constantly keep my mind occupied with other things or the despair will come seeping in. Quite frankly, it's exhausting. I know I'm at the end of my mental rope. Pretty soon I'll run out of energy to distract myself and succumb to the depression. I hope Ken is gone by then. I don't want him to see me like that.

I've run out of good distractions, and at the moment I'm just concentrating on the sky.

For all the times I've looked at it, I've never really put a lot of thought into it. It's big, it's blue, and it's there whether I dwell on it or not. It's not like my regular schedule afforded me a lot of time to think about that sort of thing. School and missions kept my mind occupied with more pressing thoughts. Like wondering if I was still going to be alive to hand in the book report I didn't exactly have time to do. And so goes the story of my life.

But getting back to the point. I'm lying here, on this grass Ken loves so much (although I find it itchy and with about all the charm of Astroturf,) and staring at the not-particularly-picturesque sky. Except it strikes me that I don't feel like I'm looking at the sky at all. If anything, I feel like I'm gazing, not at the great vacuum of space, but at a formidable lake.

It's easy to imagine the sky is nothing more than a sheet of glass, precariously holding back billions of gallons of water. Perhaps Armageddon will simply be the day the glass breaks and it all comes crashing down. I was never very keen on drowning.

I shift my attention from the sky itself to its islands of shifting grey clouds. Perhaps they are the land masses where the important matters of the universe are carried out. Maybe everything that happens down here is nothing more than pond scum. That would certainly make a lot of sense. All those self-aggrandizing criminals we've had to take out…nothing more than sludge swirling about the bottom of a lake.

The thought brings a slight smile to my predominately cynical nature. I imagine myself a frog, looking up at the surface from the murky bottom. A little bit afraid of the light.

You know, I don't think it was an accident I was raised an assassin and not a philosopher. I don't think I've really got the knack for metaphysical pondering.

A bird swims by, but my consciousness is fading. I guess I used up my afternoon's allotment of mental expenditure. I don't fight it.

I'm awakened from a rather bizarre and somewhat disturbing dream which featured Aya and Yohji as happy-go-lucky cloud people, by the suffocating sensation of a face full of fur and claws. I don't hesitate to pull the foreign object off, only to discover that someone has deposited a squirming kitten on my face. _Not funny_, I think, as I trace a scratch down my left cheek where blood is beginning to emerge. _Very, very not funny._ A look at the kitten reveals that it's not especially amused either. It only takes another moment before Ken's looming presence also registers. _Great, just great_. I roll over so I don't have to face him.

"Go away." I mutter.

"You go away," he replies, in a significantly less cheerful voice than I've recently grown accustomed to, "this is my field."

I sit up and give him a questioning look. Something has changed since the last time I saw him.

"What made you look for me here?" I ask in genuine curiosity.

"I wasn't looking for you," he replies with a shrug, "I came here because I was depressed."

Ah. So my earlier assessment had been accurate. Ken comes here when he wants to be alone. I suppose I ought to leave him to it then.

I move to get up, but he grabs my arm.

"I didn't say I didn't _want _to find you," he clarifies, "I'd just given up looking."

"Stay," he adds quietly.

I nod and sit back down. I don't really mind spending time with him if he's not going to try force-feeding me happy pills. Though seeing Ken sullen is almost as weird as seeing him artificially upbeat.

An awkward silence descends,

I hold up the wriggling ball of grey fluff that Ken had previously dropped on my face. "What's the deal with this?" I ask. It's more for the sake of starting a conversation than anything else.

"Oh," he says, rubbing the back of his head in an almost embarrassed fashion, "I dunno, someone abandoned it in the alley behind the shop the other day. It looked so sad…and _you_ looked so sad…. I thought maybe you'd do a better job of cheering each other up…. Since I'm obviously failing miserably at that."

The awkward silence returns. I feel terrible. How do you respond to something like that?

I stare at the cat and it mews pitifully. He's right, it's pretty hard to look at it and simultaneously feel sorry for yourself. I find myself reaching down to pet it without even making a conscious effort. The darn thing is like a magnet.

I look up and smile at Ken, to show him that he finally got through to me a little. But he's not looking at me. He's staring off despondently in a way I've never seen before. It actually gives me the creeps.

"Ken kun?" I ask, gingerly touching his shoulder.

He shrugs again, but still doesn't look at me. Something is seriously wrong here.

"Would it be better if it were one of them?" he quietly interjects.

"Huh?" I ask, completely dumbfounded.

"I'm not happy they left," he continues, seeming to ignore my voiced confusion, "but at the end of the day, I'm glad you're the one still here. I always felt I got along with you the best. When I'm alone with Yohji we end up getting on each other's nerves. And talking to Aya is like trying to have a conversation with a chair. But I've always felt completely at ease around you."

My mouth drops open, but he's not looking at me.

He…he can't be serious?

"All this time I thought I knew you, but suddenly it seems like we're complete strangers. It hurts to have been wrong about that. I just wanted to say I'm sorry it's me you're stuck with instead of someone more interesting or stable like Yohji and Aya. That's all."

He moves to get up, and now it's _my _turn to grab _his _arm.

"No," is all I manage to choke out. Geeze now _I'm_ the one having trouble making eye contact. What are we, school kids? Oh wait. I guess that's one category I still qualify for. Go figure.

He's staring at me expectantly now. Crap, I guess just saying 'no' doesn't quite cut it, does it? But what _do _I say?

_No Ken, I like having you around too. I'm just doing damage control so it won't suck so much when you jump on the let's-ditch-Omi-train too._

Yeah, that will go over well.

But I can't lie to him either. He'd see right through me and it'd only piss him off.

Shit.

I stall by petting the cat. It needs a name. It's only been around for twenty some minutes, but I'm already getting tired of just calling it 'the cat.' I guess I've officially accepted Ken's peace offering.

Like a homework-swamped assassin really needs an extra responsibility.

I sigh and answer Ken's questioning look in a round-about way.

"If we keep this," I point to the kitten, "you have to help me take care of it."

Ken nods, frowning. "Of course I'll help. I picked it up. I'll take all the care of it if you want."

"No, I just want help," I clarify, "but cats live about fourteen years. Sometimes longer, that's a long time to have to help."

I look Ken in the eyes and finally catch a glimmer of understanding.

"You…didn't expect me to still be around in fourteen years…did you?" he asks in a quiet, bordering on hurt voice.

"No," I admit, "I didn't."

"Well this cat is going to live to be nineteen. At least," the confidence is edging back into Ken's voice as he picks up the kitten, "but maybe we should get two cats. Just in case."


	15. Are you ready for the fallout?

"Are you ready for the fallout?"

--Ken--

I've been banned from my own house.

I don't think that's legal. You can't ban someone from their own house, right? My name is on the lease! I could just go to the police and….

…Get capped by whichever Kritiker agent is probably keeping tabs on me. No cops. And no lease. Ken Hidaka's name isn't on _anything_. Except a cemetery plot.

Crap, I'm homeless.

Okay, I'm being overdramatic. I'm pretty sure so long as I clear out for a few hours Omi will cool down and let me in for the night. I think. I'm not as confident in my assessments of Omi's behavior as I used to be. For example, a few weeks ago it would have taken a heinous indiscretion to merit my current predicament. Today however, I'm fairly certain that my state of banishment is due to the fact that I forgot to put the carton of milk back in the fridge after breakfast.

No joke.

Well anyway. I don't need to stick around. I have things to do! Lots and lots of things that don't involve Omi or the Koneko. Yep! Things like…soccer. And….

…Soccer.

…and….

Um.

I'm not even really in the mood to play soccer today.

This sucks.

I start to slump against the outside of the flower shop in frustration, until sticking my hand in my pocket leads to the discovery of a crumpled business card. It's been there for a week at least, simply awaiting the fate of getting tossed in the trash when I finally do my laundry. It is now proving fortuitous that I'm fairly lazy when it comes to washing my clothes.

On the back of the business card, in bubbly pink handwriting, is a phone number.

_Score._

While it's certainly not uncommon for me to get hit on by girls on the job, it _is_ unusual that I receive any attention from one who is close to my age, interesting, or even remotely dateable. And while I'm still not certain that the older sibling of one of my soccer students will necessarily fall into that last category, she certainly stands a fighting chance compared to those insipid fangirls. Perhaps I _will_ call up Hideyo's sister and take her up on her invitation for coffee after all.

If things go_ really_ well, maybe it won't even matter if Omi doesn't intend to let me back in tonight.

….

So. Ken Hidaka has a _date_.

It's unfortunate that I'm locked out of the house. I haven't bothered to go out with a girl since I stood up…I mean, since Yuriko left. It's actually a rather significant event. But I look like a total slob. When I got up this morning I most certainly did not dress myself with female interaction in mind. I don't think I even bothered to look in the mirror when I combed my hair this morning.

If I weren't locked out of the house, I could get myself properly snazzed up, and this date wouldn't quite feel like such a joke.

But if I weren't locked out of the house, I wouldn't have felt compelled to go on a date in the first place. I would be at home, enjoying the things that involve _not_ being locked out; like playing video games with Omi. Or even non-video games with Omi. It's been a long time since Omi beat me at chess. I wonder why we haven't….

Oh, right. Aya threw out our chess set after _that_ mission. That's kinda a bummer.

"Ken san?"

Eh?

"_Ken san?_"

Oh. Crap. She's talking to me. And I totally zoned out there for a moment. I haven't a clue what she's been saying…. I take a large gulp of my coffee to stall for time. _Crap,_ I can't even remember her name….

Omi…no! I can't believe my mind inserted that just now, I must be _really _desperate for video games today….

Um, Omi-ah-Ami-ah…Aki! That's right her name is Aki chan.

"Yes, Aki chan?" _Big Smile_. Maybe whatever she's asking is unrelated to the conversation and she won't notice that I wasn't paying attention.

"I think this coffee shop has the best blends in all of Tokyo! Don't you, Ken san?"

She's still talking about the coffee? Now I remember why I stopped listening. Omi and Yohji can do that whole 'small talk' thing. Ken Hidaka is seriously lacking in _that_ department. Alas, I put myself in this situation, so I nod in agreement.

"Absolutely, Aki chan."

She lights up at my concurrence, and I feel bad that she's obviously more into this date than I am. She's a cute girl, lots of guys would be jealous of me right now. She's got sandy blond hair, like Yuriko (I'm starting to notice that I really go for that color, though damned if I know why.) But she's really girly, unlike the aforementioned.

Dates with Yuriko were great. I could just be myself (um, the self that excluded nighttime excursions, obviously.) There was none of this small talk drivel, I could talk about my favorite things to do, and life ambitions.

I _definitely _can't see myself discussing 'life ambitions' with Aki chan here. Ugh, I think her answers would be along the lines of, "To open the best pastry shop in all of Tokyo!" or, "To find a boyfriend and get married!" Thanks, but no thanks; I'll spare myself that conversation.

So how come there aren't more girls like Yuriko around? She can't be the only one who likes motorcycles or just isn't so _girly_.

The only thing I have in common with Aki chan here is the fact that her younger brother plays soccer. And I don't _really _have that in common with _her_, I have it in common with her brother. Ha, maybe the one I should _really _be on a date with is….

Oh. No. I. Didn't.

I. Did. Not. Just have a thought like _that_ about one of my students. Oh god, _Ew._ WrongwrongwrongEWrong! I am clearly going insane from the lack of interesting conversation here (or possibly the lack of video games.) It is going to require at least a gallon of bleach before I'll even be able to look at myself in a mirror again. Maybe a couple buckets of rubbing alcohol on top of that…ohmygod, _student_.

There is also the glaring fact that Hideyo is a _guy_. But, in comparison to the tremendous creepiness of _underage student_, that just doesn't bother me as much as I'd expect it to.

I really ought to end this date. Aki chan doesn't deserve to be sitting here with someone thinking such perverse thoughts.

I open my mouth to excuse myself, but am cut off by "Ken san! Let's go dancing!"

_What?_

…_._

Okay, someone please explain to me how my attempt to extract myself from discussing coffee landed me in a club.

I'm not _dressed_ for a club. I wasn't even dressed for a café. I'm wearing jeans and a soccer jersey. And it's not even my _nice_ soccer jersey! I'm wearing the old ratty one that I only put on if I don't intend to leave the house (which, at the time of dressing myself, I hadn't.)

I tried to point out to Aki chan that I was not dressed appropriately to continue our date, but she countered with, "clubs are dark, no one even sees your clothes!"

Aki chan is proving trickier than I gave her credit for.

I feel awkward. Clubs are so not my scene. Why would I choose to be in a dark crowded place when I could be somewhere open and sunny instead?

Not that I _can't_ appreciate going to a club every once in a while. I've actually been to this one before. We had a mission here once. It was one of the more enjoyable missions, actually, I found it fairly amusing to see Aya and Omi get dressed up for it. Omi has this white leather jacket, you see, that he thinks looks really slick. He only wears it when he really wants to make an impression. Unfortunately, I don't think he's ever making quite the impression that he wants to be making. The rest of us are in agreement that his jacket is godawful, but none of us have had the heart to clue him in. He wouldn't be Omi without his atrocious fashion sense.

Aki chan is bouncing around me like a rabbit on steroids. At least I'm not the only one who can't dance.

"Isn't this fun, Ken san?" She chirps.

I nod in agreement. Maybe in the dark no one can see the lie.

How is it that I could find a place like this enjoyable on a _mission_, but not on a date with a cute girl?

I suppose the company really does make a difference.

Okay, so I'd rather be hanging out with a couple of guys that I routinely _kill people_ with, than nice, innocent Aki chan. I'm feeling more perverse by the minute. Why did I put myself in this position again? Aside from that obvious bit about Omi banishing me, of course. Ah, that's right, the hair. Besides from being my favorite color, it's short for a girl. I guess I held onto her number because she looks like the sporty type, I was hoping she shared her brother's interest in soccer. That assessment is proving to be a definite no. Although, in her defense again, she has a really nice smile. It's got a very…_familiar_ quality to it, if that doesn't sound too strange.

"I LOVE this song!" She is currently shrieking at me.

I'm not sure if a response is expected of me. I don't know the song. A noncommittal shrug should be adequate.

The next song though…. The next song I remember clearly as having played during that mission. It's one I'd never particularly liked; until that night and watching Omi dance to it. I remember being jealous that he could shrug off all the awkwardness that always clings to me and be so…unself-conscious.

It's not that he was a _good_ dancer, he just got so into it. There was really no other description for it than _friggin' adorable. _Not that I'd ever say that where he could hear it. I think my foot would probably get stomped.

Why am I still thinking about missions and Omi? I need to pay attention to Aki chan.

Aki chan. Cute, sweet Aki chan with the friendly smile that kinda reminds me of someone I can't place.

Aki chan with the hair I really like that also looks kinda familiar for some reason.

Aki chan who actually looks quite a lot like….

Oh. No. I. REALLY. Didn't.

I do a double take as realization hits my stomach like a bolt of ice.

She doesn't does she?

Yep, she kinda does.

More than kinda.

Okay, I think it's time for me to hyperventilate and then go knock myself unconscious so that I don't have to deal with the realization I am currently realizing.

I didn't hang on to Aki chan's number because of her vague connection to soccer. I saved it because of her vague resemblance to _Omi_.

Omi, whom my mind has been straying back to for the entire span of this date.

Omi, whom I was kinda ticked off at when I got the stupid idea of going on a date in the first place.

Omi, whom I have been paying way too much attention to lately and was probably completely justified in kicking me out this morning.

I think it goes without saying that subconsciously, a juvenile hope of making someone just a little bit jealous played into my bad judgments today.

It's really official. Ken Hidaka is going to Hell.


	16. Our Misunderstanding

**A/N:** _Okay, so I have to admit what most of you have probably already noticed, I've kinda written myself into a bit of a plot hole with this story. It doesn't really make sense that Ken knew about Aya chan and Yohji seems completely oblivious about her. I didn't really realize I'd done that until that detail was too entrenched in the story for me to go back and fix it. Sooooo…. cough I was initially thinking that everyone knew about her and Yohji just forgot at first…but I no longer think that would work, as Yohji is getting increasingly focused on Aya, I just don't think he'd continue to make that kind of oversight. For lack of a better explanation, I'm going to say that Aya hasn't told anyone, but Ken knew because Omi is crafty and figures those sorts of details out, and since Ken is a little bit closer to Omi than Yohji is, Omi told him. Lame? Yes. Do I suck? Absolutely ;; (I think it should be obvious by now, that while I'm following both the anime and manga loosely, my story doesn't match either of their timelines all that well.)_

_I'm sorry. All I can do is plow ahead and try to make up for the lameness…._

"Our misunderstanding"

--Yohji—

Just for the record, it's now been 468 minutes since Aya should have killed me.

I wonder what's taking him so long?

Well, the fact that he's _asleep _probably factors into it, but still. I wouldn't expect something so trivial to stop a guy like Aya. More likely, he's stalling to psych me out. I imagine my righteously inflicted gruesome death will be a lot more satisfying to him if he properly hunts me down first. He'll probably come for me two weeks from now while I'm doing something complacent, like taking a shower.

Hm. Aya and a shower. Now _there's_ a very interesting thought.

I'd smack myself if I weren't afraid of waking Aya up. My inability to suppress those kinds of _interesting thoughts_ is exactly what got me into my current predicament. I promised myself I'd be guarded, and never ever let him on to me. That resolution lasted all of what? Two hours? _Gah._

How did Aya manage to fall asleep after _that_, anyway? I suppose that imagining me impaled on his katana was a nice comforting sentiment; very sleep-inducing. He's probably having a whole slew of dreams that involve various ways of extracting his revenge.

_Just for the record, I deserve it._

It's not helping that Aya has been steadily encroaching on my space while he sleeps. Pretty soon I'm going to have to get up if I want to avoid spooning the guy. Another _interesting thought_ I have to squash in favor of self-preservation.

_Damnit Kudoh. Things were almost going well._

Who am I kidding? By 'almost going well' what I really mean is 'we were still on speaking terms and no one has died yet.' Being an assassin teaches you to set your standards _really_ low.

I think our period of speaking to each other has come to a rather abrupt end, no thanks to me.

But still, no one's died.

_Yet._

Aya shifts a little in his sleep and I sit up. He's definitely getting too close for comfort, and that would be the case _before _one takes into consideration my state of undress. It's a state I intend to remedy. Just after I spend the next ten minutes staring at him, I mean.

Watching him sleep, it's hard to remember that I am actually gazing at the form of a revenge-crazed killer. He looks, well, _normal_. I highly doubt that any amount of sleep could ever visually reduce me to that unburdened state…. That unburdened state which is currently relapsing into _consciously burdened_.

Shit! He wasn't supposed to wake up until after I got dressed!

I feel myself reel backwards, without intending to. _Self-preservation_, my mind reiterates. Since when did I start making _that_ my priority?

Aya, although awake, hasn't moved. He's lying there, still as a lump of granite. _Staring at me_.

Not one to be intimidated, I go on staring back. It's not like I can make things better just by refraining, anyway. I'm already royally screwed, so I might as well get an eyeful.

His eyes narrow into a borderline glare. "I suppose I don't want to know why, despite the obvious overnight drop in temperature, you're still practically naked."

Now that he points it out, it _has_ gotten noticeably colder. That's…rather unfortunate, despite being the absolute least of my problems.

He joins me in sitting up and reaches dangerously close to my personal space, rendering my ability to breathe all but useless. Until, for the second time in twenty four hours, he throws my pants at me.

Never let it be said that Yohji Kudoh can't take a hint.

I waste no time in restoring my clothes. Really, I half expect to get skewered in my moment of vulnerability. It doesn't matter that Aya came unarmed. I have absolute faith in his ability to materialize a weapon out of thin air were the situation to demand it. Possibly multiple weapons--he's just that kind of guy.

And yet Aya has let another opportunity for inflicting bodily harm pass by unrealized.

Once dressed, I resume staring at him. I'm afraid to speak. Once the floor has been opened, everything will be _over_. I'm not going to fool myself into pretending that things will just keep going on like before. Not after last night. Aya's let a lot of things slide with me over the past few days, but last night was too much to ask. I crossed the uncross-able line.

I can't believe I _did _that.

Who am I kidding? Of _course _I did that. Why ruin a life-long streak of screwing myself over? I'm surprised I didn't do something worse.

My mind is all too happy to supply images of what _something worse_ might have been. Now I feel dirty even looking at him. I suppose that solves my staring problem….

I sigh. Time to get this over with. If we find the keys to my car quickly, we can be home by nightfall. Then I can enlist Ken or Omi's help at talking some sense back into my head…not that I think that will do a whole lot of good. Maybe I should just skip to calling Manx and having myself re-assigned.

My stomach twists at the thought.

_Didn't think about the consequences, did you Kudoh?_

I start folding up the blanket. "We should get back to the car."

Although his face stays unreadable, Aya makes the predictable response. "Hn."

"We should call Ken and Omi to let them know we're coming back."

"We should call Ken and Omi to let them know we're _not_."

I freeze in my tracks. _What? _He didn't…he couldn't have said…. Aya's face is stone. He's not giving me a thing to help decipher what he meant.

"Come again?"

"We should have called them sooner," he says flatly.

"You don't want to stay with me." I'm not asking. I _know_ he doesn't.

"No, I don't."

See?

"So why did you…."

"Do you," he cuts me off, "_really_ want to go back to the shop, with _that_," a flinch cracks through his stony facade, "behind us, and have to be around Ken and Omi, acting like nothing happened?"

Now _I'm _the one flinching.

"They'll be able to tell. It's their job to tell when something is wrong with any of us. And they'll pretend everything is fine. But it won't be fine and the pretense is distracting. Someday," now anger is sliding onto his features, "someday, one of us is going to die. And it won't be because of bad planning or being unprepared. It'll be because one of us was distracted by this kind of avoidable shit."

The word _avoidable _stings appropriately.

"We have issues to work out. _Then _we go back."

Issues. Now there's an understatement. Together, Aya and I probably have more issues than half of Tokyo. And I don't like the way he phrased it 'to work out.' It makes me feel like a math problem he intends to solve and dispose of. Yohji Kudoh: textbook equation. It's not like I can fool myself into thinking that resolving anything will fall in my favor, anyway. Maybe going back to the Koneko is the best idea after all….

"I suppose apologizing again isn't going to cut it."

No answer. I guess not.

I pick up the blanket and kick some dirt over the burned out fire. "Well I _am_. I'm sorry. Even if you don't want to hear it."

Aya turns and gives me his iciest glance yet. "I think the root of our problems lies in your recent habit of making assumptions about what I want."

My jaw goes slack. I want to defend myself, but I have nothing to say.

He walks over and leans towards me, jabbing me hard with his finger. "You do not know me, got it? Whatever interest you think you have in me is superficial. You have no _right_ to tell me that you have feelings for me, because we are _strangers_."

My moment of speechlessness is brought to a swift end, as I feel something within me snap. Before I can stop myself, I'm jabbing him back. If his words were chosen to piss me off, he did an excellent job.

"Who's making assumptions now!" He steps backward to avoid getting shoved, "Do you think someone's feelings can fit into a neat little formula? Is that how you do it? Throw away everything that doesn't add up?" Another step back. "_You_, have no right to tell _me_ what to feel. Do you think I _want_ my sanity tied up by someone like you? If I had any control over this I would have chosen someone less likely to kill me in my sleep!"

I've pinned him against a tree, but his face is still unreadable.

"If anyone kills you in your sleep, I have faith that it will be a justifiable matter of self defense."

"You _would_ say that," I growl.

"Maybe I only said it because I knew you were expecting me to," he replies, unruffled.

"Well if that's the case, you're doing a hell of a lousy job convincing me we're strangers."

Aya leans back against the tree as if he doesn't expect to be going anywhere very soon, and can't be bothered by the inconvenience. "You don't even know my favorite color."

I can't help smirking at _that_. Apparently he's failed to check up on my pre-Weiβ resume. Instead of immediately dispelling his illusion that I've spent the past two years in a blind self-absorbed stupor, I decide to test him back a little. "I bet you know mine."

"You've never told me, and likewise."

"But I bet you _know_."

His eyes narrow. "A good assassin knows everything about their team."

"So not only are we strangers, but I'm a bad assassin?" I pry.

The question obviously has no right answer, and Aya frowns, but remains silent.

"Well, much as you'd like to think that, the fact of the matter is that even if I _hadn't _been a detective," Aya's eyebrow raises at that, as I suspected he hadn't known, "I would have had to be _blind_ not to notice how much you favor the orange half of your wardrobe, all other things, aside."

Another silent frown; had Aya really thought I didn't notice stuff like that? I'm sure Ken and Omi could have told him the same thing. Aya must think I'm the least competent member of the team.

"Well. That hardly means anything at all."

"It means that I look up and notice you when you walk into a room. I think that's a pretty decent start for something."

Aya has the nerve to roll his eyes at me. "You're going to have to give me something more important than that. Tell me something that _matters_."

I have to stop and think a little. He's right, what I do know about him is pretty scant—although, that's not for a lack of effort on _my _part. "I know that Aya isn't your real name."

His face pales, which I admit is a feat considering his pallid complexion to begin with, but his expression doesn't change. "I would imagine that to be obvious."

"It's obvious because it's my fault anyone calls you that in the first place."

He visibly bristles at that. I'm sure that the fact that I'm in any way responsible for shaping a piece of his identity bothers him deeply. He doesn't want to admit that I've affected him that much.

"If you don't know why I let you get away with calling me that, then it's meaningless."

"I don't know because you don't _want _me to know. Would you prefer that I disrespect your privacy? I'm pretty sure I could work things out if I really tried."

"Do what you want." His eyes are fixed on some imaginary point behind me, denying me contact.

Damnit, he's completely shutting down. This is the most distant I've seen him since we left Tokyo.

"I don't want to _do_ anything! I just want…." I pause and take a breath to calm myself down, it's all I can do to keep from shaking him, "I mean, I don't expect you to ever return my feelings. And I get that it's unrealistic for me to even hope you'd consider me a 'friend.' I just want you to trust me enough to let me get to know you a little. Okay? You don't have to start by telling me anything _important_. Just cut the 'we are strangers' crap, because that's worse than you flat out telling me you hate my guts." Another breath. I back off and sit down on a fallen limb, never taking my eyes off Aya. I'm waiting for him to take the opening I left him and announce that _yes_, he _does_ hate my guts. End of story.

But instead of proclaiming that I am the bane of his very existence, and now that _that_ issue has been addressed, yes, it _is _okay to go home to Ken and Omi, Aya remains silent as ever. I take that as my cue to keep talking.

"There was a reason that I brought you to _my_ room, and not the empty one, that first day in the Koneko," I say. "You elicited something…I dunno. I got a vibe. Same thing when I decided to take off the other day. It never even occurred to me to take Ken or Omi. At least, not until after we'd already left. It _had_ to be you. I don't know what it is, but something's _there_."

And here I've given him another opportunity to object--to say, _no, the only thing there is your lousy imagination_. But Aya keeps staring and the only answer I get is the buzz of cicadas.

"And anyway, you know lots about me," I continue, this is turning into a right monologue. "You know that I like to read stupid romance novels and that I won't hesitate to wear girls clothes if I think they look good on me. Which they usually do. And that I like camping. And just to add to that, my favorite song is _Knocking on Heaven's Door_, and I don't understand why curry is so popular these days."

Aya twitches slightly. I can tell that if this were a normal conversation, he might have _almost_ smiled at the randomness of the things I'm telling him. But since instead of a normal conversation it's a frantic attempt by me to convince him that our time together hasn't been completely meaningless, well, he obviously represses it. But then he surprises me and walks over to sit next to me on the branch. At first I expect this to mean that he's going to say something, but I'm disappointed. Oh well, it's still a good sign.

"And what do I know about you…." I say slowly, allowing myself to really think about this as I talk, "I know that you _don't_ like camping. And that you've never seen any famous cowboy movies. And that you're extremely particular about how you eat a bowl of udon." Weird how much my list of things I know about Aya has grown in the last two days. "And your favorite color is orange."

"It's not."

It's a good thing he moved closer to me, or his response would have been lost, his voice was so quiet. But…wait. What does he mean that's not his favorite color?

"I don't even like orange," his voice is halting, like he isn't sure if he should tell me this. "It was someone else's favorite color." He falls silent again and I know better than to press him to elaborate.

The "was" of his statement hangs like a heavy weight. It's _important_. Aya just told me something far more intimate than I ever could have expected of him. My mind flashes back to when he was drunk. _I promised her_. He's talking about the _real_ Aya, whoever that is. Only the "was" keeps me from going numb with jealousy.

I feel like I have to say something or the significance of his reaching out will be lost, and I'll never get another chance like this. "Cattleyas were Asuka's flower," I say. I've never mentioned Asuka to him before. I don't know how much he knows, but I'm confident he'll understand the gravity.

Silence falls but it's not so tense as before. Aya's frowning again, but this time it has an introspective air to it, and doesn't seem to be directed at _me_.

The minutes stretch on and again I feel compelled to speak. I just don't handle awkward silences very well.

"I might not _know _you, but I don't think we're all that different. And all I can say is that I _want _to know you, Aya, I really do."

He stands up and brushes himself off without looking at me. "We should go to the book store," is his cryptic reply.


	17. An exit to eternal summer slacking

"An exit to eternal summer slacking"

—Omi—

The phone rings and I notice that the _hope_ that sound inspires has almost been stamped out. Pretty soon I'll be able to react to it without having to suppress my instinct to go, "Is it _them_?!"

Except! I fight disbelief as my mind registers that it _is_ 'them.' That's unmistakably Yohji's voice on the other end of the line. I should say something to establish my utter relief at the fact that two people so important to me have not simply dropped off the face of the earth, never to be heard from again.

"Yohji, I am going to _kill_ you when you get back here."

Hm. That isn't quite the sentiment that I'd meant to convey. I can't quite argue my sincerity though; would it have killed him to call me sooner?

"Take a ticket, and get in line," his voice sounds mildly bemused, "Aya has first dibs on _that_."

Aya! More relief. They _are_ together, as I'd assumed. And Yohji didn't correct me when I said 'when you get back here.' They're somewhere together and they're coming back. I can already hear Ken's voice saying "I told you so."

"You _are_ coming back, I assume," I say, just to cement things and give me peace of mind.

"Ommitchi? You okay?" Yohji sounds concerned, "you don't…sound like yourself."

Sound like myself? What does Yohji know of how I should sound? If he cared about how okay I was he wouldn't have…. "Tell me if you're coming back, and I'll tell you if I'm okay," my voice is definitely colder than he's used to now.

He falters, obviously thrown by not being greeted with the cheerful front he associates with me. "Ah, see, the thing is…." I cut him off, "A yes or no will suffice." He falls silent for a moment in which my stomach plunges. "Yes. We _are_ coming back. But not yet and I can't say when. Tell Manx we're taking an unpaid leave of absence."

"Kritiker doesn't allow for that," I remind him, still irritated.

"I think there is a stipulation in there about stress-induced mental illnesses…" he says.

Oh, he has got to be joking. "You and Aya kun are suffering from mental illness?" I hope my voice conveys how unconvinced I am.

"Big time."

"Uh huh…." I say, "I'm kind of having a hard time buying that Aya kun would agree to that."

"Wait, I'll put him on," Yohji's voice is distracted and suddenly switches to Aya's. "Kudoh is an idiot, but you should listen to him this time." Wait. _What?_

"I should listen to him say that the two of you are mentally deficient?" Aya isn't seriously going to allow someone to think that….

"Call it what you like," his tone is matter-of-fact, no trace of emotion. "We'll probably need about a week. To deal with…some problems."

Problems? What the hell kind of problems require Aya and Yohji to take off on their own with no forwarding address? If they're dealing with something serious, shouldn't they be talking to Manx? Or a psychiatrist? Not that the image of Aya willingly confiding in a doctor is a believable one. He's the type to struggle with things on his own. Yohji on the other hand…. It's not hard to picture Yohji sprawled across a leather settee, spouting Freudian theories to an attractive therapist. Hm, I wonder how Yohji factors into the equation of Aya 'working out problems.'

"One week," I say, not leaving any room for questions in my tone. This is surreal. Sometimes I forget that technically, being the first member of the team, I actually have authority over Aya. It's not authority I ever exert really, my seniority usually stops at the fact that I plan out our missions. Giving orders to a guy like Aya just plain feels weird.

"That is acceptable." No arguing, no appreciation for my acquiescence. Classic Aya.

Now Yohji is back, "Look, I'm really sorry about this Omi, I should have called sooner."

"Damn straight."

"But Aya wasn't kidding," he continues, "things have been kind of weird and we're both more than a little distracted right now."

"Care to elaborate?" I ask, trying not to let the genuine curiosity show through in my voice.

"Actually, no," he says, "maybe some other time."

"As long as there _is_ an 'other time,' that's fine," I reply, "but I expect you back in a week. I don't think I can explain your absence to Kritiker any longer than that."

"Understood." He says, and our long-overdue communication is ended.

I'd expected that hearing from Yohji would take a tremendous weight off my mind, but the relief is short lived. In fact, the phone call throws me completely off balance. _Something is wrong_. Both Aya and Yohji sounded strange. I'm not completely convinced they'll make good on their promise a week from now. On the other hand, I've now given them permission. There's nothing I can do but wait, and hope that Yohji was exaggerating with his mental illness pitch.

My mulling is interrupted by the bleary-eyed appearance of Ken.

If I'd been looking to Ken to set my mind at ease, it was a mistake. He looks almost as troubled as Yohji sounded. I noticed that he got in late last night, and it doesn't appear that he got much sleep afterwards. I feel a slight twinge of guilt.

"Yohji kun and Aya kun called."

He instantly brightens. "Really! That's great—" the relief is just as quickly erased as he looks more closely at my face. _Why aren't you happy then?_ "They ARE coming back, right?"

Should I burden him with my insecurities?

No.

I nod. "One week. They both promise to be back in a week."

He chews on his lip as he thinks about this. "Yohji and Aya want to be alone together for a week?" His voice is incredulous. "I'm having a hard time picturing that without imaging one of them killing the other. Did they explain _why_?"

I can't stop my eyes from rolling. "They're having _problems_."

"Problems." Ken blinks. "Well, no kidding. They've _always_ had 'problems.'"

"Yohji kun claims they are problems of the mental illness sort."

That elicits a smile from Ken. "That's probably the only explanation for those two wanting to be alone together that I could find believable."

"They sounded kind of strange, Ken kun," I say, my worry finally winning out, "well, at least Yohji did. Aya sounded like himself, but it wasn't like him to agree that he's having issues. It was a really odd phone call."

"But they said they're coming back," Ken reiterates.

"Well yeah, but—"

"But nothing," he interrupts me. "I've never known Aya to say anything which he didn't make good on. I trust him to come back, and I also trust him to drag Yohji back with him, even if that requires some sort of blunt force trauma to do so."

I can tell by his expression that he genuinely believes what he's saying. I feel just a little bit envious of his ability to still trust people like that.

"Well then, in the mean time it's just you and me for a whole week."

If I hadn't already been paying attention to Ken's face, I might have missed the change in his expression. But with the words _it's just you and me_ his look of confidence slides into an unmistakable one of concern. A second later, he's composed himself again, but the damage is done. _Ken does not want to be alone with me_.

A numbness descends as I try to make sense of that. What about the things he said to me on the soccer field? Did he not mean them? Was he just being nice? Ken isn't the type of person who says things just to be nice. He values honesty too much, right? But that _look_. There was absolutely no question that he finds the idea of spending a week alone with me troubling. Did something happen last night to change things? He did look, well, _burdened_ when he first came down this morning. It's my fault. I was feeling smothered again so I overreacted and kicked him out. I threw everything off balance, and he's had time to reconsider how he feels. I bet he's wishing he was off with Aya and Yohji right now….

"Omi," Ken is now several inches closer to me and looks more concerned than ever, "are you okay? I really _do_ think they'll come back."

His voice snaps me out of my internal panic attack. "Ah—yeah. I'm fine. I was just thinking of how hard it will be to keep things running with only two people. And I still haven't had time to get all the stuff I need for the cat. It's just stress, I'm fine."

I don't think he really bought that, but he doesn't challenge me. After a moment of quiet, he leans back and smiles. "I don't see how your stress is any less significant than whatever Aya and Yohji are dealing with. If they can take a week off, so can we, don't you think?"

_No,_ is what I think. _I have too much responsibility. Aya and Yohji's absence means we have to work harder than ever. Now is the very worst time I could shirk my duties._ I simply shake my head. _If he doesn't have to work in the shop, then he doesn't have to be around -you- _a secondary, and more malicious voice in my head tacks on.

"We could just take off and go somewhere like they did," Ken persists.

I don't immediately shoot this down, simply because I'm surprised he'd suggest it. Why would he be willing to go away with me after the reaction I just got?

My silence apparently encourages him. "We wouldn't have to go _far_. We could just drive to the coast or something. If a mission came up Manx could call us, and we'd come back. There's no reason that the shop _has_ to stay open."

I have to admit, it's a very tempting proposal.

"What about the cat," I stall, not sure whether to outright refuse or let him talk me into it.

"The cat comes with us."

"It'd be hard to find a place to stay that allows cats."

"Omi," he looks at me flatly, "you're a highly trained assassin. I'm pretty sure you can handle smuggling a tiny kitten into a hotel room without getting caught."

"When you decide to break the rules, you break _all_ the rules, don't you?" I counter.

"In for the inch, in for the mile."

"We shouldn't," I say, now with as much intent to convince myself as Ken.

"We'll perform better on missions if we're rested."

"We can't just close the shop for no reason."

Ken disappears for a moment and returns with a piece of cardboard and a marker. He writes 'Closed for repairs' in thick block letters. "There's your reason," he says cheerfully.

"Aya will kill us when he gets back."

"No he won't," Ken frowns. "Now you're just making excuses. If you don't _want_ to go, just say so."

I don't know how to respond to that. Of _course_ I want to go. But does Ken really want to go himself? He might just be trying to make me feel better again. Things could get really weird if he's just forcing the issue.

I lock eye contact with him. "Do _you_ want to go?"

My question surprises him. "Why would I bring it up if I didn't?"

"Because everything you've done over the past couple days has been an attempt to cheer me up," I decide blunt honesty is the best way to go with Ken, "if you really _want_ to spend some time away with me then I'll go. But I don't want to get dragged to the beach just because you think it would be good for me."

"Those two scenarios don't have to be mutually exclusive," he says quietly.

"And that means what?" I respond stubbornly.

"It means," his voice is noticeably cautious, "that out of all of Weiβ, I think you could use some time off the most. But it also means that I have personal motivation for suggesting a trip."

"Personal motivation?"

"I really, really want to go to the beach with you."

"Well then," I finally drop my guard a little and smile back at him; maybe I misinterpreted his look of distress, "we need to pack."


	18. You're the only one who can see

"You're the only one, who can see, the real me"

-Aya-

I've been stuck here at this lousy table, in this mediocre coffee shop for _three hours_. If I'd realized that Yohji intended to read that book the second I handed it to him, I would have held it hostage for a little bit. Or at least picked up something more interesting to read for myself than a cheap travel magazine. I should have taken him to a library instead of a book store. Then he could have at least read it where I'd have something better to look at than a three page spread on Kansai's least known pachinko parlors.

But even still. I only bookmarked a handful of stories. He should have been done with it in twenty minutes. What on earth possessed him to try to read the _whole book_? Couldn't he have waited till we were back in a hotel? Or somewhere _nice_ at least. What's his hurry? And why does Yohji seem to have such an attachment to second-rate coffee shops, anyway?

It hasn't been a nice day.

Waking up on the cold, hard ground, only to be followed by a fight and then a game of find-the-keys-on-the-side-of-the-road is hardly something to put in the vacation memory book. To add to that, the ride into town was less than amicable; Yohji's barely said three words to me since we left the campsite this morning. He's giving me such a wide berth of personal space that instead of reassuring me, it only serves as an inescapable reminder of what happened. I feel completely isolated.

_Bath houses! Bath houses! Bath houses! _Says my magazine.

I snap it shut and revert to glaring. Maybe I can mentally freeze up his ability to read.

It takes a few minutes, but he eventually looks up from the massive volume and meets my gaze. "Yeah?" he says.

I want to say "What's taking so long, you've already read the important ones," but I'm trying not to emphasize its significance. For all he knows I just gave him a random book to shut him up. Instead I say, "You don't have to read _all_ of it."

"But its interesting," his eyes fall back to the open page, although he continues talking to me, "this is a bit different than the version I used to have."

I take an unnecessary sip of coffee before responding. I don't want to come off as especially eager to be having a conversation about fairy tales. Although the truth of the matter is that a literary discussion could only be an improvement over this oppressive silence born of consequential actions.

"Censorship."

Hm, if I want to encourage an actual conversation I suppose I ought to upgrade my sentences to more than single words.

"Well," he says, "I can't say I feel a great loss at having my childhood story time devoid of eyeball-pecking-birds."

"It lacks its sense of justice without all the death," my tone is defensive.

He turns a page and continues reading, "Maybe."

I try to let him read in peace, I really do. But the longer he reads the longer I'm stuck with nothing but my own thoughts to occupy my attention. Given the events of the past twenty-four hours, my thoughts are not a hospitable place to dwell. All I can think about is _Yohji_. Yohji and the unsettling things he said not even five hours ago. Funny how I'm now sitting here wishing that Yohji would talk to me so I can have a distraction from thinking about _Yohji_.

"You could finish it at the hotel," I say impatiently.

He opens his mouth to say something, but hesitates. I know almost instinctively that he was about to drop some kind of annoying innuendo about us being alone together in the hotel room. When he finally speaks all he says is, "There's no coffee there."

"I wasn't aware that coffee was a prerequisite for reading," I mutter.

He shrugs and flips back to one of the pages I'd dog-eared and stares at it for an unsettling amount of time. His face holds a similar expression to one I've seen him wear while working on crossword puzzles. The knot in my stomach tightens.

"I'm noticing a preference for enchantment stories," he observes, his tone thoughtful.

_Damnit, why did I give him that book._ Yohji is being more perceptive than I anticipated…. What did I expect? Him to glance at the genre and make a sarcastic remark about my immaturity? To flip through it and be completely baffled as to why I'd handed it to him? I certainly did not expect him to pore over it as if he were grasping the Rosetta stone. It's not safe to answer him.

His eyes drift up to glance at me, and he seems to understand that I don't intend to comment. Then he's back to reading, but I can tell his concentration is broken. I'm now getting as many glances as the book.

After a few more minutes he finally seems to resign himself and shuts it. He looks like he's going to say something, but hesitates. I _know_ he's doing it solely to annoy me. The look he's giving me is so intense it's creepy.

The unpleasant stare is quickly redirected though, as he starts idly fooling around with his empty mug, balancing it on its bottom rim and tipping it in circles. _Round and round we pointlessly go_. This time I don't think he's deliberately trying to irritate me, but all the same I can barely restrain myself from reaching over and stilling his hand. I wonder if he has to practice to maintain so many nerve-grating habits. The spinning vessel slowly winds down to stillness and is encored with another awkward moment of staring.

"You're the Princess with the golden star on her forehead," is what finally spills out of his mouth.

_What_.

A wave of panic hits me with such force that I nearly drop my coffee cup into my lap. Why did I bookmark that story? _Why did I give him that book?_ I bookmarked other stories too though, how…how did he pick out _that one_? How is it that given the vaguest of clues, Yohji can see _right through me_?

_Deny. Deny. Deny._

No good. Yohji is too skilled a detective to have missed the truth in my shocked reaction. It would only make him more relentless.

"I'm leaving."

There we go; a no-fail answer to everything. By the time Yohji pays the bill he'll have lost me.

I need to get home to Aya. What was I thinking, agreeing to spend a week resolving our 'issues'? My own issues couldn't be fixed in a lifetime, let alone a week. And Yohji…. _I _can't help Yohji. Spending a week with me isn't going to fix anything. Pretending nothing happened probably _is_ the best option after all.

My train of thought is derailed by a jarring jerk to my arm. I've been caught. Yohji's grip is like iron.

But instead of dragging me back into the coffee shop, he wordlessly steers me outside. The hold on my arm is not released until we find ourselves standing in one of the more remote corners of the city's central park. No longer is there a threat of disturbing customers should I choose to make a scene.

Yohji's eyes keep apprehensively dropping to my no-longer-ensnared wrist, like he expects me to bolt again and will regret having let go. It's an irrational fear; if I'd _really_ intended to escape, I hardly would have let a single hand around my arm stop me. I suppose my masochistic side wants to stick around and find out what he'll have to say.

So I wait for him to say something.

And wait.

And wait.

Yohji is, apparently, good at waiting too.

"Do I look like a girl to you?" I finally mutter, hoping to derail the truth he's onto with irritation.

"Not in the slightest."

"It's too bad I didn't give you _Hans Christian Anderson_," I continue bitterly, "then you could have said I was the _Snow Queen_."

Now _that's_ a statement that's been building up for a while. The others might think they're being subtle, but I'd have to be deaf and blind to miss the fact that they all think my personality is frigid. The snide commentary of icy metaphors is rare, but it still _hurts_.

"Mmm," he actually has the nerve to _smile_ as he takes his time to reply, "I suppose I can see why you'd think that, but no, I wouldn't say something so absurd."

"_How_, is that more absurd than calling me a princess with a prissy _star_ on her forehead?"

"Well let's see," Yohji sits down and attempts to pull me down with him, but I resist. "I'm familiar with the Snow Queen story, you know. She's supposed to be a manifestation of the _Devil_. Do you really think I think you're the _Devil_?"

In the true spirit of the star spangled princess, I keep my mouth firmly locked.

"The princess didn't smile for seven years, are you going to tell me you don't see even a _little_ bit of a resemblance?"

I still don't answer, although my expression must be giving something away, because Yohji won't shut up.

"If you didn't want me to notice, you shouldn't have told me to read it." He adds obviously. No kidding.

"The real Aya is one of the Ravens," he continues; it's not a question, "which answers whether she's still alive." His words are assaulting me like jagged little rocks, striking me with sharp stings before dropping dully into the pit of my stomach. Aya has just been reduced to nothing more than _alive. _But what she's doing right now can hardly be called _living._ Does Yohji have any idea at all what he's putting me through, even just saying her name? I feel sick, and simply stand, frozen like a statue. My capacity to react is drained.

"So I guess what I want to ask is…"

_Who the hell is Aya?_ My brain fills in.

"….How can I help you help her?"

Eh?

And Yohji scores another point for catching me off-guard. I don't know what to say so I give in and sit down next to him. The grass is kind of wet and I immediately wish we were somewhere else. Somewhere that wasn't teaming with happy families going on wholesome family outings.

"No one can help her," I finally concede to answering, "and I won't talk about it."

Yohji falls silent for a moment, and I can almost see the questions boiling away under the surface and fighting to get out. He _really_ wants to know about Aya. "The princess almost died because she couldn't tell anyone what was wrong," he says eventually, "I don't want to see you get to that point."

"If I were really the princess then I'd be screwed because I've already said too much anyway." I roll my eyes, hoping that Yohji will think it's in response to the ridiculousness of his comparison. The truth is I'm rolling them at _myself_, because I can't believe I let things get this far. I had so many chances to tell him off or just keep my mouth shut….

Yohji sighs and doesn't say anything for a while. He seems to be staring pretty hard at an old stone kitsune nearby; the park is littered with like Shinto vestiges. "Well then," he says, shaking himself out of whatever he'd been dwelling on, "so long as we're extrapolating upon the Brothers Grimm, I suppose that makes me the big bad wolf, eh?"

_Yes,_ I want to say, _you've hit the nail right on the head._ Except it would be a lie, just punishing him for this interrogation. Is that really how he sees himself, or did he just say that for my benefit? _Do you really think that I think you're the Devil?_

I suppose I _did_ accuse him of being predatory.

"No." I say, "You have too much in common with idiotic kings who fall in love with people without bothering to get to know them first."

Yohji's eyebrow shoots up as I drop the word 'love' and I immediately regret my phrasing. That's not the word—thank god—he used in his confession. Who am I to make such assumptions of myself? He then gives me a hard evaluating look which slowly melts into a _very_ satisfied grin. "Yet in spite of that, the princess marries him," he says smugly.

"I never affirmed I was the princess." _So much for skipping the denial tactic._

"I never said I wanted to get married," he agrees with an easy smile.

We fall back into silence, but the tension has dissolved. With the direction that conversation took I would have expected Yohji to keep pressing the issue. To start cracking jokes about Prince Charmings and damsels in need of rescuing. But he's giving me space.

That of course might just have been his survival instinct kicking in, though, because a single one of those jokes would have earned him a black eye. Or worse.

Yohji stretches out on the grass and I find my eyes wandering against my will. Does the man own _any _shirts that cover his midriff? To keep my gaze disciplined I resort to picking off the wet blades of grass that have plastered my shoes. _Yohji_ is starting to become synonymous with _staring_.

"You know," he says, finally breaking the lull in conversation, if you can call this an actual _conversation_, "it's your turn to ask me something personal now."

"…Assuming you care to," he adds.

Snapping back with sarcasm is so automatic, that I'm barely able to stop myself from saying something mean. I don't _want_ to be mean, but the words are in my head the second he gives me the opening. _What makes you think you're that interesting, eh? _It's like I've got some kind of antagonistic programming. Silence is better than a tetchy quip, I decide, although Yohji looks mildly disappointed when I fail to answer.

I don't know what I'd ask him, though, anyway. _Aren't you cold in that shirt?_ Immediately springs to mind…and is just as immediately shot down. Bad question, very, very bad question. Bad questions are all that I can think of. _Couldn't you find a _real _princess?_ Probably. _Do I even want to know? _No. No, I really don't. Questions. I have too many questions about the path my own life took to have room to worry about other people. Do I look like a therapist or something?

I can barely dismiss the notion though, before _questions_ usurp my mind completely. _How does a Japanese kid manage to watch so many Western movies? How does a person who has to _kill_ people manage to stay so easy-going on their time off? How can you be interested in _Me_ when you could have any girl in all of Tokyo?!_

How can a single sentence give me such a big headache?

With my shoes newly defoliated, I no longer have an excuse not to look at Yohji. So I shut my eyes. I try thinking about the places we've gone, and not the company I've been keeping. _Kyoto_. Kyoto was nice, I'll have to take Aya there when she….

…Not a more helpful train of thought.

I think I saw a temple when we were walking through this park, I'll have to stop and fill out a prayer board for Aya. Prayer board…what was that Yohji wrote on one back in Kyoto? Something cryptic about a number.

And I suddenly find myself possessing a question I genuinely want to ask.

My eyes snap open and for once I'm _not _trying to divert them. "Yohji," it seems odd actually saying his name aloud, I rarely acknowledge his presence with anything more ceremonious than a _you_, "what does '99' mean?"

His eyebrows go up in surprise, clearly shocked that I would know enough to even pose that question. "You don't waste any time with unimportant details, do you?" He laughs, like that was _exactly_ the question he'd hoped I'd ask. The way his hand is nervously running through his hair says otherwise. I'm not going to answer. If he feels like giving me an explanation I'll listen. If not, he shouldn't be wasting my time by suggesting these stupid games in the first place.

"Ah…." he stalls for a minute, "This might sound stupid."

I refuse to argue that statement.

"It's _Agent_ 99. A character from an old TV show."

Yep, that _does_ sound stupid.

Not that I have any room to judge.

My silence increases his fidgeting. "It's nothing, really. I just always compared her to someone important to me."

The past tense doesn't escape my attention. He's talking about the girl who liked cattleyas. He used the past tense then too. He goes quiet, challenging me to ask another question and keep the conversation going. I don't want to be so indulgent.

When he realizes that I don't intend to humor him he sighs and stands up. "Well," he says, seeming to effortlessly brush off all the baggage that was burdening our conversation, "Nara's a big city, there's no point in just sitting in a park all day."

The words _she's dead_ echo in my head, but I keep it to myself.


	19. I don't mean to seem insane

"I don't mean to seem insane, but you wind me up"

—Ken—

Ken Hidaka, you _really_ need to start thinking more before you open that mouth of yours.

Most people, _normal_ people, who suddenly realize that they have a crush on someone, and who consequently _don't _want that person to find out, know better than to instantly suggest a romantic beach getaway with their hope-to-remain-secret-crush.

Am I stupid, or _what_?

There are so many other, non-threatening things I could have suggested. We could have gone fishing. We could have taken our bikes out to the country. We could have gone to that cabin on the mountain…no, wait. The cabin is _deserted_, maybe that wouldn't have been such a hot idea either….

Anyway, my point being that there are _dozens_ of places I could have proposed we go to that wouldn't involve Omi in a wet bathing suit. Or Ken having a nervous breakdown while trying to keep himself composed around Omi in that wet bathing suit….

Why do I do this to myself?

Because I'm a masochist, apparently.

Luckily, by the time we packed, drove here, and found a place to stay, it was pretty late; definitely too late to hit the actual beach. I have a brief reprieve before I have to deal with the consequences of my actions.

I look at Omi sitting on his bed in our hotel room. He seems to have relaxed a bit since this morning. He's playing with the cat and actually _smiling_. I wonder if he would still be smiling if he knew the less-than-noble types of thoughts I've been having about him? Probably not. That would definitely add to his stress-load. And I brought him here to get _rid_ of stress, not string him out more. I seriously need to keep a handle on myself.

"I bet there's a movie on TV," he says, looking up from the cat.

I nod. A movie would be good. Distracting. I need a distraction.

"I could go find us a snack or something, if you want to look for one."

"I'd like that."

It only takes me a few minutes to run to the store and procure some popcorn and candy, but by the time I get back he's already thoroughly absorbed into some sort of Samurai program.

_That's good_, I think, _a samurai movie is -safe-._

I toss him a portion of the snacks and sit down in a chair which I have deemed a safe distance from Omi. His reaction is immediate. I suppose I should have realized that he'd find it weird for me to _not _sit next to him while watching a movie.

"Why are you sitting over there?"

Crap. He actually looks _distressed_.

I try to think of a logical explanation, but come up completely and utterly blank. "I…don't know?"

_That_ was smooth.

Since I can't come up with an actual reason for me to keep my distance, I get up and move next to Omi on his bed. He immediately scooches over and _leans_ against me. I think my blood pressure raises about 10 points. Its normal behavior for him, of course, he's always treated me like some kind of older brother or something. I try to be normal too; _think normal, brotherly thoughts_. And fail. The thoughts in my head right now are _definitely_ not of the brotherly ilk. Omi, you have _no idea_ what you're doing to me right now.

I'm so preoccupied with the awkwardness of the situation, that it takes me a few minutes to pay attention and actually attempt to watch the movie.

I expect to look up and see a battle. Or some sort of character building montage. Maybe a scene with a Geisha.

I do not expect to look up and see two samurai making out.

I do a double take.

Yep, on second glance, those are definitely both samurai. And they are definitely making out.

_What_?

I almost panic. Does Omi _know_? Did he see right through me, and is now trying to test me somehow? Is he making fun of me??

A look in Omi's direction reveals nothing. He's completely and utterly absorbed in the movie and not showing the slightest reaction to the atypical scene playing out. His arm has ended up resting halfway across my leg and he's idly drumming his fingers on my knee in a way that I don't think he's even aware of what he's doing. The intermittent contact is _maddening_. I'm terrified that I'm going to lose it and grab his hand. Or worse.

Holy mother in heaven, now there's a _third_ samurai.

I…don't think I can handle this movie.

Omi must have noticed me fidgeting, because he turns and gives me a questioning glance.

"Ah…what's this movie about?" I ask, hoping to sound like an innocent question.

"The best Samurai in all Japan," he says with a shrug.

"The best, huh?" I ask nervously.

"Apparently he's so amazing that no one can resist him," he grabs some popcorn in an unconcerned, carefree way, "not even the other samurai, heh."

"Apparently," I think my voice sounds a little funny.

He finally picks up on my discomfort and looks at me more seriously. "Does it bother you? The only other movie I could find was one of those romantic comedies I know you hate. At least this one has had some good fight choreography, you know?"

"I like good fight scenes," is all I can think to say.

My answer seems to satisfy him, and he turns back to the movie, completely enraptured.

I wanted to watch a movie as a distraction from Omi. But now I'm finding that I need a distraction from the _movie_ too. Time to focus on the popcorn.

Omi must be some kind of frickin' mind reader though, because he reaches for the popcorn _exactly_ as I do. The sensation of his hand brushing against mine gives me a jolt, and I jump a little. This earns me another questioning look. I want to crawl under a rock right about now.

"If you don't like it, we could go _rent_ a movie, you know," he says.

"No!" I don't know why but his comment makes me feel incredibly defensive. I guess I don't want him thinking I'm narrow-minded. Or…something. "I think it's interesting! I want to know what happens."

What happens is a couple of battle scenes. And then an entirely _different_ type of fight scene that makes me more than just a little bit queasy.

Is Omi just completely impervious to weirdness? There's a gay orgy on the television, and he's watching it with an expression that might as well say he's viewing '_It's A Wonderful Life_.'

I really can't handle this.

"Um, Omi…." I stand up more abruptly than intended and end up accidentally shoving him off of me, "The car ride left me feeling really stiff…I'm going to go check out the hotel's gym."

He gives me a look that's completely undecipherable. I've simply never seen an expression like that on his face before. I'd feel bad if not for the pressing issue that if I _don't_ leave (-right now-) there is no doubt that there will be a bigger problem to deal with than just hurt feelings. He'd thank me if he knew.

"You can come if you like…." I offer lamely.

"Maybe after the movie," he mumbles, to my relief. I'm not quite sure what I would have done if he'd accepted.

….

So here I find myself in the Hotel's complimentary health club, and not a moment too soon. The gym is my sanctuary. There is no better cure for thinking than the mindless reps of exercise. Whenever something is _really _bothering me, I come to a place like this, and simply burn the memories away. It's as close to Zen as Ken Hidaka gets.

To the further rescue of my sanity, I find that the room is mostly empty. There are just a few beefy body builders of the so thoroughly unattractive type, that my traitorous mind can't possibly be distracted by them. Although, the fact that I even notice this disturbs me a bit. How did it happen that suddenly I can't even walk into the gym without taking a mental survey of how no one here is my type? Two days ago I wasn't even aware I _had_ a 'type.' Now I'm coming to the realization that not only do I have one, but it's so specific that pretty much only one person fits the bill. My type is Omi. And from what I can gather, Omi's type is feminine, blue-haired aristocrats. Being a boring, athletic guy and not a cultured girl with indigo locks…well. I obviously need to learn to preoccupy myself with a healthier train of thought. Ken Hidaka needs to start paying more attention to the treadmill and less to the sweaty displays of machismo whom are obviously not my type.

I'm watching the stats on the monitor blink and change as I plan out which weights to use when I'm done warming up. I only look up to take a survey of the available equipment, leaving half my attention on how many minutes I've got left to run. A mistake, it turns out. Maybe if I hadn't been splitting my attention it wouldn't have taken me by such surprise to glance over and find _Omi_ in my direct line of sight. Omi casually setting up the bench press and wearing shorts so short they ought to be illegal. Holy crap, is it even possible to exercise in those? My brain promptly ceases to function properly. Unfortunately, with the loss of my brain my legs stop working as well. Even more unfortunate is the fact that the treadmill still works perfectly fine. Suddenly I'm speeding backwards and making a rather abrupt acquaintance with the floor. Ow.

Oh please let him not have seen that.

Of course, in order for Omi to have not seen that, the universe would actually have to _like_ Ken Hidaka. Which it doesn't. Almost instantly Omi's face reappears above me.

"Are you okay?" He asks in a voice that's only slightly lacking the sincerity I'm used to.

_I might be if you'd go put on some frickin -pants-._

I lack the will to get up. Maybe if I play dead he'll just go away.

Yeah, right.

"I'm meditating."

With an uncharacteristic subtlety Omi raises a single eyebrow and gives me a skeptical look. "Meditating," he repeats, "on the floor of a grimy hotel gym."

"Yes."

"Next to a treadmill," he persists, "that you were running on about two seconds ago."

"No time like the present," I answer vaguely.

"You ought to keep in mind," a smirk breaks onto Omi's face as he offers me a hand up, "that your dislike of lying goes in hand with a complete and utter inability to pull it off."

I think I'd be blushing, if not for the fact that my face is already flushed from running. Thank god for exercise.

It's probably just my imagination, but it seems like Omi takes just a few seconds longer to let go of my hand than he should have. No, it's definitely my imagination. Besides, my hands are all sweaty so he had to grip me pretty hard in order to yank me up. That's all.

_That's all._

I turn to get back on the treadmill, but am stopped by a tug on my arm. "I was about to bench press," Omi's saying. _Yes, I know. Didn't you notice me watching you? _"I need someone to spot me."

Oh crap. _Danger Ken Hidaka, danger._ There is –no way- I can handle standing over Omi while he lifts weights and just watch him go up and down, and up and down, and—no. No, no, no, no, no.

I turn around to expressly decline, but my resolve disintegrates into a feebly blank stare. He's giving me one of those manipulatively meaningful looks that I'm incapable of saying 'no' to. Damn it all.

"I thought that you were going to watch the end of the movie," I stall.

He shrugs. "I was, but my attention span ran out without someone to watch it with. It was getting too contrived."

Getting? I'd say it started out that way. "It was…kinda weird." I nod, hopping that he won't interpret that as judgmental. And then, deciding that it is in fact more important to avoid talking about that…_movie_, I resign myself to the task at hand. "Bench press?" I hope that sounded cheerful.

He smiles, and I follow him across the room, where he proceeds to lie down on a bench and grab the suspended barbell. My hands have barely closed around it too, and he's already lifting it up. Even if I wasn't obligated to watch him I'd be riveted. His eyes slide shut, making it apparent that he's not even remotely worried that I'll fail to catch it if he drops the weight. This would concern me a little (I don't think I'm in the most trust-worthy state just now, ya know,) if I wasn't so grateful that he can't see the degree to which I'm staring at him.

And boy, am I staring.

I'm staring at the serious look of concentration he's wearing, one that rarely appears outside of missions. I'm staring at the way his bangs are plastered against his forehead from sweat. I'm staring at how subtly muscular his arms are, something that isn't really all that noticeable outside of the gym. He certainly doesn't emphasis it.

I'm staring and thinking of other scenarios that might involve Omi lying beneath me all sweaty and with his eyes shut like that…and I quickly cut off that train of thought before it makes me feel like even more of a terrible person. Gah. Just…gah.

I banish myself to only looking at his hands until he's finished. Even _that_ doesn't stop my mind from concocting all sorts of questionable thoughts which are undoubtedly causing me to turn several degrees of crimson right now, but hey, it's the best I can do.

He has nice hands, you know. They certainly aren't the type you'd look at and immediately think 'Hey! Lethal darts!'

To further distract myself, I start counting the repetitions as he lifts the bar.

1.

_He's your best friend._

2.

_He's your best friend._

3.

_He's your best friend._

4.

_Friends don't have creepy thoughts about their best friends._

5.

_I wonder if Omi had any girlfriends aside from Ouka?_

6.

_D'oh._

7.

_He's your best friend._

8.

_Besides, the key word there was 'girlfriends.'_

9.

_So it doesn't matter 'cause you don't qualify._

10.

_He's your best friend._

11.

_But I wonder just how far he and—_

12.

_No._

13.

_At the rate you're going you're going he's not going to stay your friend._

14.

_Let alone 'best.'_

15.

_Just focus on keeping your friends._

16.

_Huh, he's doing a lot of reps._

17.

"Ken Kun?"

18.

_He's your best friend._

19.

"Hey, _Ken_."

20.

"Eh?"

I don't even notice that Omi was talking to me until I feel the barbell jerk out of my grip. Among other things I had failed to notice was the fact that I'd let my eyes fall shut in self defense. Oops. I'm scared to open them, but I don't really have a choice.

Making eye contact with Omi unleashes a virtual _slideshow_ of all the sketchy thoughts I'd been struggling to repress. I'm so appalled with myself I literally feel ill.

"You're pulling half the weight," he's saying, "you were only supposed to hold on, not—" his confused expression slips into a more worried one as he notices what must be a visible drop in my constitution, "Ken Kun, are you _okay_?"

"Um," I stall, hoping that the wave of..of…_weirdness_, will ebb, and that I won't have to come up with an excuse, to _lie_….

…But it doesn't.

"No."

It's the first thing I've said with confidence the entire night.

"Actually, I think I'm getting sick."

'Sick' is such a wonderfully versatile word.

"IthinkmaybeIshouldgotobed."

Omi doesn't get a chance to answer before the door to the gym has slammed behind me.


	20. It's Better than it Was

"It's better than it was"

-Omi-

Is it just me, or is Ken acting _really_ weird lately?

I suppose it _is _'just me' as there's no one else here for me to ask.

But seriously…he's starting to freak me out a little. Well, only a little. Ken is fairly susceptible to bouts of weirdness. But this is a whole new brand of weird I've never seen before. No, seriously. From the moment we left the Koneko, it's like he's turned into some kind of skittish absent-minded zombie.

I _almost_ believe that he's getting sick.

Except that I've _never_ seen Ken get sick--not even with a cold.

You'd think from looking at us that Aya would be healthy one. He's got the sort of obsessive compulsive nature you'd expect to go with that, right? The truth of the matter is that I wouldn't be surprised if Aya was in worse shape than Yohji. I rather doubt the man would ever eat or sleep if the rest of us weren't around to keep an eye on him.

Ken though…I suspect he never quite un-trained himself from his pro-athlete routine. He eats and exercises like he suspects that any day now someone might call him up and say, _'Hey, Hidaka. You know that whole drug thing? Total mistake. When can you make it to practice?'_

Is it horrible of me that I'm glad he'll never get that call?

Yeah, it probably is.

Well, anyway, I've been up for about 4 hours now, and he's still in bed, so maybe he really is sick. I've been trying really, _really_ hard not to wake him up.

I'm getting bored.

Did I say getting? It's actually more like, I'm minutes away from losing my last shred of sympathy for invalids. His 12 hours of sleep is about to get abruptly cut short.

You can only watch so many movies by yourself in an impersonal hotel room before you start getting depressed, after all.

Maybe if I get close to the bed and stare at him he'll wake up. That technique seems to work pretty good for cats….

I creep over and silently balance myself on the edge of the bed. Ken is completely still. Almost too still, if you ask me, it's a little bit suspicious. But then, _everything_ about Ken has been suspicious lately. It's taking me a lot of effort to believe he's sick.

He _has_ to be sick.

If Ken isn't sick, then something else is drastically wrong.

It's taking me even more effort not to think about what that something else might be. My mind keeps trying to concoct explanations that are so unrealistically self-indulgent that I have to stamp them out before the thought can even complete. It isn't healthy for me to think like that.

If Ken said he's sick, then he's sick.

I really need to start trusting people more.

Now's not the easiest time to start though, because I can tell from the way he's breathing that Ken is _awake_. If that weren't enough of a giveaway, the way he flinched as I leaned over him would have sealed the deal.

He _flinched_.

I…I'm not sure how to feel about that.

"Feeling better?" The cheerfulness in my voice is painfully fake. I don't really care if Ken can tell.

He responds by shutting his eyes tighter and shirking back into the blankets. _If I can't see you, you're not there._

"Keeen kuuuun," I poke him in a way that I can only hope is annoying. "You promised we'd go to the beach toodaaay."

I honestly couldn't care less about the beach. Just save me from this _boredom_.

Ken mumbles something inaudible, and retreats further into his tangled fortress of sheets.

This is ridiculous. If Ken was sick, really, honestly sick, he would have told me specifically what was wrong. He wouldn't have practically dropped a barbell on my head before bolting out of the gym last night. He wouldn't be…well, I have to admit it to _myself_…he's avoiding me. Again.

I don't understand how he can go from smothering me with attention, to this bizarre state of….

It's not like I enjoyed being smothered by him, you know. It's just that I feel….

Well. "Led on" isn't exactly the right phrase, but it's the first thing that comes to mind.

"You're not sick," I say, daring him to look me in the eye—I've leaned in so close he can't _not_ look me in the eye—and contradict me, "I _know_ you're not sick. So just tell me what the hell is your problem." I am not too surprisingly met with silence so I add, "Or I'm going back to the shop. _This isn't fun._ I thought we came here to relax, wasn't that your excuse?"

I've gotten too in his face for the blanket retreat to work, so Ken shuts his eyes and turns his head before muttering, "Telling you my problem isn't going to help you relax."

"Says _you_," I counter, "I can't think of anything more stressful than knowing that there's a problem, but not knowing what it is. You could tell me you're acting as a double agent for Schwarz and it would still be better than _not knowing_."

Ken cautiously opens one eye and glares at me, as if he thinks I really seriously might have suspected him of working for Schwarz. Yeah, right.

"Think how much angst Aya and Yohji would have saved if they'd just told us _they _had a problem before they disappeared on us," I drive my point home.

Ken's other eye pops open and he abruptly sits up—which means narrowly missing a collision, considering how much I had just been invading his personal space.

"_This is different!_" He snaps.

I think I might have pissed him off with that comparison. This is a positive development though. Mad Kens are positively hopeless at keeping secrets.

"So try explaining to me how it's different?" My arms cross to make it clear that I'm not backing down. I'll utilize classified Kritiker interrogation techniques if necessary.

"It's different because…" he starts, "I mean I l—" his eyes drop down as he trails off and turns red, "I mean, I really…" now he's looking at the ceiling….

The sentence fragments are _killing_ me.

"My problem is," Ken's looking at me again, only now he's wearing an expression of such grim determination that I can't help feeling disturbed, "My problem is that I've been thinking about you too much."

Why is he apprehensively watching me like he expects me to punch him?

And….

What the _hell_ does 'thinking about me too much' mean?

I mean…I can think of things it _might_ mean.

…I can think of what I _want_ it to mean….

…Well, I can think of what I _think_ I want it to mean….

…I can't believe I'm even _letting_ myself think about what I think I want it to mean….

I feel a little light-headed all of the sudden.

A glance at Ken's gloomy mask of doom helps ground me again. From a guy like Ken, those words really could have meant _anything._

No point in getting my hopes up.

"I fail to see the problem," I state diplomatically.

He scrunches his eyes shut like he's irritated at me for failing to read his mind. "_Perverted thoughts_," he mumbles.

Ah, Ken. Poetically blunt, as usual.

Okay, so there's only _one_ thing he can mean by _that_, right?

Well, I could think of others, but I'd be really stretching it.

I'm pretty sure that coming from _Ken_ there's only one thing that could mean.

I had _better_ be right about this.

Ken doesn't get a chance to elaborate, because I've very rapidly moved from sitting in front of him to occupying his immediate space and interfering with his ability to breathe.

Breathing is totally overrated.

"I _still_ fail to see the problem." I try to keep my voice cool, but it somehow manages to morph into a question as I notice the complete lack of participation my kiss elicited from Ken.

Oh shit, was I _wrong_?

…Or maybe I was just _bad_. I'm pretty sure Ken has more experience than me.

Oh, crap, I bet I was _awful_. Girls don't tell you that sort of thing, do they? I could be like…the world's worst kisser and not even know it!

But Ken doesn't really look like someone who just received a heinously atrocious kiss. He looks more like someone who just went into epileptic shock.

I'm back to thinking, _oh shit, was I wrong?_

Maybe whatever Ken was thinking about me was accidental, and he's so disgusted that he can't even stand to look at me anymore? Did I just do, like, the very worst thing I possibly could have done?

Yeah, probably.

Well, whatever the hell Ken's mental problem is, it's apparently contagious. What was _I _thinking?

Obviously I _wasn't_. Ten minutes ago, the possibility of kissing Ken was most definitely the very last thing that would have occurred to me. In fact, I don't think it's occurred to me at all. _Ever. _Where the hell did that _come _from? This is, um, a somewhat unexpected development. I would use the word 'interesting' if not for Ken's unfortunately disturbed reaction to it. Damn.

Ken's still staring at me, whatever emotions he's currently feeling utterly blanked out with astonishment. Methinks now would be a swell time to get the hell outta Dodge.

I actually make it all the way to the TV before he tackles me.

"Don't you even _think_ about it," he gasps. "Just. Don't even."

I'm scared to look at him, so I fix my eyes on the cat, who is currently staring back knowingly, quite obviously aware of his current status as the only sane creature in the room. My mind is still caught in a skipping loop of _why oh why did I DO that?_ I must subconsciously be trying to completely alienate him. Or…something.

"What…" Ken starts, and then I feel his hand tighten on my shoulder. "Hey, lookit me."

I don't want to look at him. This is the train wreck moment that's slowly been culminating ever since Yohji and Aya disappeared. Impending sense of doom realized.

The possibility that this is anything _other_ than an epic catastrophe doesn't even occur. Good things just don't happen to me.

Hey, just when did the idea of Ken wanting to kiss me turn into a good thing, anyway?

Did someone slip me some drugs?

"Omi."

Crap. I'm gonna have to look at him.

I try to call on the Bombay half of my mind, the part that can somehow magically stay calm in any given situation. The part that can evenly dish out orders to my teammates _(friends?)_ that might possibly lead to one of their deaths at any random moment. It's not working. Apparently I find it easier to get shot at than I do to make eye contact with my own best friend.

Just in case you'd forgotten that I'm not a normal teenager.

The grip on my shoulder turns into a tug, so I listlessly comply. "I'm—" I start to say….

"Shut up," Ken cuts me off.

Okay, _not _the reaction I was expecting.

I look up. His face is flushed, which isn't all that unusual, being something that happens whenever he's embarrassed or mad (both more common than you'd think.) I'm not reading either emotion from him though, which _is_ unusual. He looks….nervous. Which I would have considered weird (Ken is _confident_. Period) until I place that nervous is _exactly_ how he's been behaving almost non-stop for almost two days straight. Ken, nervous? Huh. I wouldn't have thought….

There I go again, _not_ thinking.

Sheesh.

"Don't apologize," he quickly amends. "I don't want to hear that you're sorry, cause _I'm_ not." He stops and looks (stressfully) thoughtful for a moment. "I mean, unless you really _are_. In which case, then I guess I am too."

Huh?

I look at him blankly, trying to untangle the exact meaning of his hasty declaration. "You're what?"

"I'm hoping to find out whether you actually regret that or not." His face is more guarded than I'm used to seeing.

"Ah…." I'm not immediately sure of the answer _myself_.

Wait, does that mean that he actually…?

No way. For real?

Nuh uh.

"Did you like it?" Damn, now I think I'm blushing too.

The corner of Ken's mouth twitches like he wants to smile, but is trying not to. "First I want to know whether you did it because you actually _wanted _to, or if you were just trying to make me happy."

A perfectly reasonable question (did Ken just admit it made him _happy_?) but it kind of rocks me. I've never before felt quite so…transparent. And again, I don't even know the _answer_. Do I really cater to the others quite that much? Yeah, I guess so. I didn't realize that it showed.

I back up a little; I need some space from him in order to properly mull this over. For some reason it's hard to keep my thoughts coherent in close proximity to Ken. That didn't used to be a problem….

But anyway, it's not like I'm a pushover or anything. It's just…I've spent almost _half_ of my life as an assassin. It never seemed all that likely that I'd get the chance to grow up. What's the point in making plans for a future that probably won't even be there? It's easier to make an immediate difference around you by making others happy. My friends are the only thing that I've allowed myself to care about. When they're happy, so am I.

But…I wasn't thinking like that when I kissed him. Heh, as I said, I wasn't thinking _at all_. My only awareness was of the building sense of…_amazement_…that Ken's been thinking about me. It made me way happier than I ever would have guessed.

Woah. I guess I _did_ want to.

I nod, forgetting to actually answer his question.

"Well?"

"Yeah. I…wanted to." I wish I had managed to make my voice sound more confident than I actually feel.

"_Really_?"

Damn, Ken's gonna draw this out _forever_.

"Yep."

Is it my imagination, or is Ken suddenly a few inches closer to me than he was a second ago?

And…he's _grinning_. Well. In a nervous shifty sort of way.

"Well in _that_ case," he says, "I most _definitely _liked it."

I kind of feel like up till now my life has been some sort of horrible soap opera, and someone just unexpectedly changed channels on me. I don't know how to react to this plot development. It's too…. Hm, 'normal' certainly isn't the word.

Auspicious?

"You didn't act like you liked it," I say defensively. I'm having a hard time believing that he isn't still just trying to cheer me up.

"You surprised me," he shrugs. "I didn't think there was a chance in hell you'd ever do that."

Honestly? Neither did I. Go figure.

He coughs and looks away slightly. "I'd be happy to make it up to you if want to give it another shot."

I stare at him, a little disbelievingly. My brain isn't wrapping around this whole scenario very well. I guess it doesn't need to though, as my head nods on its own accord.

The next thing I know I've been knocked flat and Ken's proving to me the sincerity of his enthusiasm. Not to mention the fact that he's a much better kisser than I ever suspected.

Not that I've _thought_ about it….

Okay, so maybe _fleetingly_.

Ken finally pulls away and gives me an expectant look. He's rewarded with a shaky 'thumbs up' because my mind still isn't functioning well enough to give him cohesive verbal feedback.

_Kissing Ouka wasn't like that._

He's still in his pajamas and completely disheveled from sleep. He looks just like….

"That was okay?" He breaks my train of thought with another round of concern.

I nod, and try to sit up, but Ken's in my way. "Very." My stomach feels like I've swallowed a tangled mess of knotted rubber bands. I'm not sure exactly what that means, but it's very distracting.

"Only okay?" He probes.

"Ken kun," I say, finally breaking out into a grin myself, "I think it's my turn to tell you to shut up now."

"Make me," he says.

I'm more than happy to comply.

**A/N:** I really apologize for the delay. This chapter took ridiculously long, even by my standards (which I admit are excruciatingly slow.) I originally intended to take it in a different direction, which turned into a disaster. I had to walk away from it for a while and then do a massive re-write. The next chapter shouldn't take nearly so long, really.

Also, I've done a bit of editing and fixed some stuff in previous chapters that had been bothering me (unfortunately the epic plot hole still remains intact.) Hopefully they were all minor enough issues that no one will catch the difference.

Thank you all so much for still reading.


	21. Can't chase her away

**A/N:** _As I've mentioned before, I'm loosely following a mish-mash of both the anime and the manga for this story. For their backgrounds I'm definitely drawing the most from the manga. I just want to flat out say that I'm disregarding the drama CDs here, to avoid confusion. Therefore, Aya went renegade after the accident, until getting picked up by Weiβ. There were no Crashers._

_Also, I just wanted to warn that there's a decent chance of the rating increasing on this fic soon. It might even be as soon as the next chapter, although I'm not sure yet…._

"Her ghost has come to stay,

All you can try, you can't chase her away."

-Yohji-

Ugh, I'm not sure what to do.

Can you guess where I am?

_Asuka _Dera. To see the _Asuka_ Daibutsu. Right here on the ol' _Asuka_ Plain.

Yep. _Great_ idea. Real healthy of me, huh?

I look down at the cigarette in my hand, the cup of coffee in my other. I'm drinking coffee right now specifically because it's a convenient vehicle for public alcohol consumption. My beverage is liberally spiked, and no one's the wiser.

It's no secret that doing things that are _healthy_ for me has never been a top priority.

Aya really wanted to come here. It's allegedly the oldest Buddhist temple in Japan and all that, would probably be an excellent place for getting charms. I'll have to pick a few up to make up for ditching him.

I _had_ to ditch him, you know. I couldn't come here with someone else. I didn't know how I'd react. Given the impact that it had just being casually mentioned in the car…. I can't say I'm too keen on Aya seeing me lose it twice.

Don't even think about saying "But you didn't _have_ to come here," either.

What the hell is my problem, anyway? It's not like there's actually anything _here_ that's even remotely connected to her. She wasn't a history enthusiast. She wasn't even religious. She had nothing to do with temples and statues whatsoever. For all I knew she'd never even been to Nara. There's no correlation at all, it's just a frickin' _name_. This shouldn't be painful.

I somehow get the feeling that Aya would see my point of view though.

Not that _he's_ the benchmark for mental stability.

I'm starting to _get_ him, you know. The enigma is slowly unraveling. He's more like me than I ever would have guessed.

I'm not sure that's a good thing.

I would have wanted him to be…well, _better_.

I sigh, and flick away one of the badly folded paper cranes I have lined up on my knee.

When we were in Kyoto I picked up some origami paper. It was pretty, seemed like a good souvenir. Seemed like something Aya would like, actually. After talking to him over his…book…I got a kind of stupid idea. I remembered that story about how you'll get a wish if you fold a thousand cranes. For a few minutes I convinced myself that folding some for Aya would somehow help.

Well, it was something to do while I sat here feeling sorry for myself, anyway.

…I only got to about thirty. With each piece of paper my thoughts strayed farther from _Aya_, and dwelled more on _wishes_. The cranes got sloppier as my resolve fractured. I realized….

…Shit, I don't even like admitting this to _myself_.

I realized that to finish such an undertaking…I honestly couldn't trust myself not to waste the wish on a dead person.

I thought that this recent development of interest in Aya was a sign I was moving on a little. It would be about freaking time, wouldn't it? But I'm getting worried that maybe the truth is that I'm attracted to him because he wouldn't expect me to. Aya understands _not_ moving on.

No. That's not it. Not _all_ of it any way. There's more, there's definitely more. But that's still got to be part of it.

I don't feel like a very good person right now.

--Which is a ludicrous statement. I haven't felt like a 'good person' in several _years _now; hardly a new development. Actually, I'm being generous there, how I feel has nothing to do with it. I'm simply _not_ a 'good person.' If I were I wouldn't be here, wouldn't be able to rationalize away the things I do….

Wouldn't have met _Aya_….

Damn.

All points lead back to the unavoidable topic.

An acceptably cute girl walks by and I toss a crane at her. I've been slowly disposing of the evidence of my now abandoned 'great idea' in this manner over the past half hour or so. A week ago I would have held it ransom for a phone number. Or even an on-the-spot make-out session. Now I just want to get rid of the things. I'm not ready to have to deal with choices like that.

…Which means I shouldn't be wasting Aya's time.

It's a good thing he's not interested anyway. I'm almost relieved. Almost, I'm too selfish to _actually _be relieved. But I like to pretend I am. It helps a little. I don't think I'd be good for him. Talk about compounding baggage.

Maybe I _should_ pick up a few phone numbers.…

"Damnit, Asuka," I mutter under my breath while trying to fish out a new cigarette.

"I know girls' names are probably all the same to you," I practically jump at the unexpected intrusion of a familiar voice, "but mine's not all that hard to get right."

_Busted._

I look up, recovering from my surprise to find Aya looming over me, scowl painfully present.

"You owe me 3000 yen," he gripes.

I raise an eyebrow, but forgo verbal acknowledgement in favor of lighting up my cig.

"I had to take the _bus_," he mutters.

"Damn, how many places did you look for me?" I ask in surprise. That's some hefty bus fare.

"Just here." He stiffly sits down next to me, and crosses his arms.

Uh huh. Like I'm really gonna believe the bus ran him up 3000 yen. I accentuate the skepticism of my expression.

"There's interest," he says matter-of-factly. "I _hate_ public transportation."

"That's a steep interest to charge someone who's been buying half of your meals and paying your hotel bills," I say half amused.

"Kidnapping's an expensive hobby," he announces without the slightest trace of emotion on his face.

A snort escapes around my cigarette. I can never quite tell when he's actually trying to be funny or if it's usually just an unfortunate consequence.

When I say 'unfortunate' I mean for _him_ of course. I'm always glad to be entertained.

I unthinkingly shove my Styrofoam cup into his hand while I rummage for my wallet. I can't say I particularly care if he's going to make ridiculous demands. I'm just glad he's still around.

Whether it's healthy or not.

"Don't you ever get tired of coffee?" I catch him murmur to himself before taking an uninvited swig of my beverage. I turn to watch. This should be good….

Aya's eyes go wide and his face scrunches up in distasteful surprise.

"Christ," he chokes, setting the cup down with an accusing glare. "You can't be left alone for five minutes."

"I resent that," I say, my mood abruptly improved, "I drank a whole cup of the stuff before I decided to take creative license with the condiments. I'd say I was well-behaved for at least _forty_ minutes."

He snorts and shifts his glare off of the cup and onto _me_. His burning gaze is a familiar sensation though, doesn't faze me in the least. I return to my task of fishing 1000 yen bills out of my wallet.

My hand is suddenly stilled by Aya's in a gesture that clearly indicates he doesn't actually want my money. It stays there a good seven seconds longer than I would have deemed normal before he snatches it away again; something I never would have noticed if I wasn't doing my damndest to read some sort of meaning into his every little movement.

"Just get me a drink that doesn't taste like paint thinner, and I'll call it even," he sighs.

"Your wish is my command," I say, and then wince at my word choice.

I bury the awkwardness by springing up and rushing off to the nearest vending machine. I make sure to take my time picking out what I decide must be the very most appropriate and elegant canned tea in the limited selection. I'm not avoiding him, mind you, this stuff is _important_.

I hand Aya the warm can and can't help noticing a subtle change in the tableau. I'd had three lonely paper cranes left when he showed up, of which I carelessly brushed to the ground as I bolted away. The ground is now spotless, although Aya is doing his best to look blank and inconspicuous. Huh, that's intriguing.

He passes me back my coffee as I sit down.

"Does it actually help?" He says, glaring at the cup again.

"What? Coffee?" I understand what he's getting at, but try to circumvent an uncomfortable topic.

"No, the alcohol." Aya's voice is weary, I notice. "From my experience, I can't see why you'd voluntarily inflict that on yourself. It makes you _feel_ awful, and it _tastes_ awful too. I just don't get it. I know I sure wish I hadn't…." His voice trails off and he looks away, obviously not very eager to remember that night in the hotel room.

"I don't think it tastes awful," I stall.

"Lots of things taste 'not awful,'" he huffs, "but you've really been favoring the alcohol lately. Explain and maybe I won't harass you about it."

Wow, now _there's_ a breakthrough. Aya, offering to back off about something? I'm not sure whether to be glad, or…worried. Probably worried, actually. I don't really have a lot of energy to be worried though.

"No, it doesn't actually help," I sigh. "It's…uh," hm, this isn't something easy to explain. Just brushing it off as a 'bad habit' isn't going to cut it for him. "Its like taking naps," I say, momentarily struck by an almost completely random analogy. To another activity I'm rather strongly attached to, I might add.

"Naps," he echoes, face skeptical.

"Yeah," I shrug. "Exactly. It makes you feel better while you're taking it. But it doesn't last and when you wake up you just feel more tired. It's a very brief reprieve with no lasting value whatsoever."

"Naps don't leave you with cleaving headaches," Aya points out grimly.

"That's what the drugs are for," I make a lame attempt at a joke. Okay, so maybe it's not entirely a joke. "Eh, so it's more like _extreme _napping," I shrug again and take a swig of the coffee, which I happen to think tastes _excellent_. Then again, I've probably completely burned out my ability to really taste anything with the cigarettes….

"So why bother then?" Aya persists, in a display of uncharacteristic chattiness. "What's the _point_, if it doesn't help?"

"Point?" I repeat with forced humor. "Who needs a point? _I_ have no point, why should my habits need one? My whole goddamned life has no goddamned point."

Aya's gaze becomes more intent. He frowns but doesn't comment.

"I mean, I hate to break it to you Aya," I continue, "but I didn't exactly spend my early years hoping I'd turn out to be an assassin." _Although, if I'm honest with myself, I probably _would_ have if it had actually occurred to me._ "And even so, it's not like we have the kind of job where you can look forward to promotions. Not that I'd actually _want_ one."

I drain the end of my cup in one gulp, then wish I hadn't. I could use some more of this stuff right now.

"Weiβ has no definitive end to plan for; there'll always be creeps to kill. I have absolutely nothing to look forward to except for dying on a mission. I've no _motivation_ to be better. Drinking is just a good time killer."

Aya snatches the cup out of my hand, although it's just another demonstration in futility, as I'd already finished it.

"_My_ life has a point," he mutters.

"Good for you," the sarcasm is accidental. I've been indulging in depressive introversion all morning; I wasn't prepared to have to civilly interact with anyone. "You're lucky," I amend, hoping he'll pick up on the actual sincerity of that last part.

"Hn," he's no longer looking at me.

Damn, I really hadn't meant to give him even more evidence to think I'm a loser. Way to go, Kudoh.

My hand drifts up to an all-too-familiar spot on my arm. I've been unconsciously touching it off and on ever since I got here. Nervous habit, of sorts.

"Have you ever wondered about my tattoo?" I ask spontaneously.

"You mean, besides how you could have such bad taste?" He counters. He's still scowling, but the bite has left it.

"It doesn't matter what kind of taste it's in," I say quietly. "It means something."

"Obviously." Aya refuses to rise to my desire for interest. But he doesn't stop me either, so I decide to explain.

"I got it the day after my first mission," I say. "You weren't around yet."

He stares at me expectantly, waiting for me to continue.

"Before then, reality hadn't really sunk in. I was desperate; I thought I could somehow fix things, ya know?"

Aya nods hesitantly. "Asuka." He's been paying attention….

"Yeah, Asuka." My voice catches slightly, embarrassingly. "She was my partner." I assume he'll remember my earlier comment enlightening him to my past profession. Not that it matters if he doesn't; our relationship had thoroughly bled through the realm of professionalism. The description can afford to be vague.

"When Kritiker offered me that contract it seemed like a good solution. I thought it would help."

I look at Aya. His face is unreadable.

"It didn't help."

My eyes dart away again. Perhaps for Aya it _did_ help. He _does_ still have a purpose, after all.

"Then I killed someone for the first time." I close my eyes, my hand tightens on my arm. "Nasty reality check, there."

Aya says nothing.

"It felt horrible," I say. "It didn't fix a goddamned thing. It just smacked me with the realization that Asuka was _dead_, and nothing I could ever do would make it better."

Silence continues to permeate.

"The tattoo reminds me to keep a grip on reality. Although _it_ doesn't really help _either_." My hand drops back to my side as if overwhelmed by the excessive pointlessness.

"You could quit," Aya finally says. "You were about to, weren't you?"

Is that supposed to be a hint?

"I've been thinking about it," I admit. Obviously, we would still be in Tokyo if I wasn't. "I don't think there would be a point in _that_ either though," I say. "I'm too screwed up to start over."

"No you're not."

Aya's disagreement is completely unexpected. My eyes snap open. He sure didn't contest it the _last _time I made a statement like that.

"I'd already killed people by the time my first mission was assigned," he says quietly.

My jaw, literally, drops.

"I'd probably be in jail by now, if Kritiker hadn't intervened." He concludes morosely. "My revenge was too important to wait for a contract."

….I _really_ don't know what to say to that. I'm _surprised_. But only for a moment. As his confession sinks in, I realize that had he told me that back at the Koneko I wouldn't have even blinked. I'm only surprised because my perception of him has changed over the course of our trip. It's disconcerting to learn something that only reestablishes the way I _used_ to see him.

"I'm not lucky," he mumbles.

I open my mouth to reassure him, but words still fail me. My hand falls limply on his knee.

"Screwed up is not feeling guilty about any of it," he shrugs mechanically. "I don't. Not if I succeed at my goal. _That's_ screwed up."

"Shit, Aya…." My voice fades. I want to somehow reassure him, put my arm around him or _something_, but I don't dare. I've already crossed too many lines in the past few days. He doesn't seem to be looking for comfort, anyway.

"Ran," he corrects.

I'm confused. I look at him questioningly.

"My real name is Ran," he says, staring at the ground. "I'd rather you didn't use it. But I guess you deserve to know." There's a resigned edge to his voice.

I can actually _feel_ my heart rate picking up at his unexpected disclosure. Wow. I really didn't…_wow_.

"…Thank you." I say awkwardly. "I'd…like to use it."

He frowns again, and shuts his eyes too. "Hn," he sighs, "maybe…someday."


	22. Civil war keeps raging in my mind

_**A/N: **__Well, lengthy author's note here…. First I need to say, this chapter leaves my established comfort zone for the first time. I hope I haven't managed to throw off the balance of the story. I think I managed to keep it in my style despite the rating now gradually creeping upwards. Well, I hope. Anyway, you might notice that the language has rather abruptly gotten harsher. I actually intended for language like this to occur in several places in earlier chapters…but I toned it down to adhere to a lower rating, as I didn't know what direction I would ultimately be taking the story. Now that the rating has had to go up for other reasons, I'm switching back to the language I felt was natural for the situation (which is rather abundant in this chapter, as Aya is quite emotionally distressed.) I apologize if this bothers anyone, but it really was my intent from the beginning. _

_Now I want to say that as I've gotten farther into this story, I've really been astounded at how thoughtful and detailed some of my reviews have been getting. I can't describe how rewarding it is to get such insightful feedback. It's managed to break me out of some serious cases of writers block. Thank you. I'm really grateful to have such awesome people interested in my writing. I can't say that enough._

* * *

"While this civil war keeps raging in my mind"

-Aya-

Yohji's been getting a little…distant.

He's taken to disappearing a lot. He keeps going for 'walks.'

…Walks that can last up to three hours.

Call me cynical, but he wasn't exactly much for recreational exercise back in Tokyo. Well, not unless the word 'exercise' was actually an innuendo for _something_ _else_.

It's disturbing that I would even think of that without him around to drop the hint.

He's _getting_ to me.

I ought to be glad for the time alone. It should be a _relief_. I could be getting stuff _done_.

I'm mostly just hanging around the hotel by myself, trying to nail down just why it bothers me so much that he's gone.

Because it does. It bothers me.

There were so many points where I could have avoided this. So many opportunities to shut him out. And each time I didn't. I _bent_. Over and over again. Why? So he could go on three hour walks?

I can't help but assume I'm the cause of that. They started _after_ I opened up to him, you know. He wanted to pry so much. I acquiesced. Does he wish he hadn't now? I know he had much more romantic ideas of what the 'real me' was like. I'm sure he's disappointed…if not completely freaked out.

Which should be good. I'm supposed to want him to leave me alone.

'Supposed' being the key word.

Damnit.

How did I let him get to me like this?

I've never met anyone who was more…invasive.

Hn, Kudoh. More like _Kudzu_.

Relentlessly working his way into all the cracks in my foundation. Until it _breaks_. Creeping over _everything._

I shouldn't have let this happen.

I shouldn't have stayed in the car.

If I hadn't stayed in the car Yohji would be gone. _Really_ gone. Out-of-Weiβ-never-to-be-seen-again gone. I can tell. He only said he'd been _thinking_ about that, but still, I can _tell_. I know Yohji would be gone.

But wouldn't that be for the best? He'd be happier gone. I'd be…better off alone. That's what _would _have been best. Right?

I'm _supposed_ to say 'yes.'

But really, the thought makes me feel kind of ill.

I could still leave.

But something's still stopping me. If I'm honest with myself, I know I don't really _want _to.

The fact that I don't want to makes me feel kind of ill too.

I'm a bad brother. I've _never_ gone this many days without visiting Aya-chan before.

How is it possible that Yohji could get to me so much it interferes with _Aya_? It shouldn't be feasible! I would have thought it laughable. _No one_ gets in the way of time with my sister.

…No one but Yohji, apparently.

Damnit.

If the mere fact that I'm even still here with him isn't proof enough that I'm losing my mind, how about this? One of his vanishing acts actually made me so antsy I attempted to read that horrendous romance novel he picked up a few days ago. Note the use of the word 'attempted.' I had to skip over bits; I honestly couldn't stomach the whole thing.

The characters were so…two dimensional. The girl was beautiful. _Perfect_.Yet no one wanted her. Except for the dashing outlaw, _who was also perfect_, aside from being a 'bad guy.' The romance, if that word even qualifies, was so superficial it made me cringe. _Two perfect outcasts, perfectly in love._ Nauseating. Is that what Yohji's looking for? Is that the sort of thing he really wants?

He says he wants _me_.

Well, _said_.

The balance has shifted since that night on the hill side. Things have already changed. _Yohji's_ changed.

I didn't even really believe him when he confessed, so I'm hardly going to assume he's still interested. It's not that I think he was lying; I'm sure he believed himself. I just don't believe he really _knew_ what he thought he was thinking. I was pretty sure that if he got a better view he'd reassess.

Is that why I did it?

So he'd change his mind?

It must have been.

I let him get to me, so he'd change his mind.

It's what I wanted. I definitely wanted him to change his mind. He can just go for walks until he sorts it all out, and he'll realize I'm too much of a mess to bother with, and then everything can go back to normal. We can go home and I can get my focus back on Aya-chan.

Aya chan is the only thing that matters. I have to remember that.

It shouldn't be a question of 'remembering' though. It should be unequivocal. There should be no competition. I shouldn't be finding my mind filled with other _invasive_ topics in the first place.

I've been thinking about him _a lot._

I need to figure out _why_.

Well, it makes sense that I'd be thinking about someone if I'm trapped with them all alone.

…Except for the fact that I'm no longer 'trapped' with him. I'm just _alone_.

…And still thinking about him.

Funny how the more space he gives me the more persistent my thoughts become.

Must be irony. Or…something.

It certainly can't be….

I can't even let myself _think_ it.

Because it's ridiculous.

It's totally impossibly unfathomable that I might actually be interested in him _back_.

Inconceivable.

Not a chance.

Right?

I miss the days when I could actually feel the conviction behind my beliefs. I'm no longer sure about _anything_.

I'm no longer sure that I want him to leave me alone.

I'm not sure if I'm letting him get to me because I actually _want_ him to. Or if I just _expect_ him too. He fits so neatly into my fairy tale. It almost seems inevitable.

Am I really that fatalistic?

Which is worse? Relinquishing to an expectation? Or _wanting_ him?

Could I really…?

No.

…_Maybe._

See, the thing is, I've honestly never been all that interested in girls.

I thought I was too busy for them; my mind was always occupied with other things. It never occurred to me that I might be interested in, well, _NOT_ girls. I wasn't looking because I didn't think I needed _anyone_. I thought I was self-sufficient. I _wanted_ to be self-sufficient.

It was so easy to _assume_….

I never tried to contest the assumption.

Am I…you know…?

I can't definitively say _no_.

Damn. How does someone make it through twenty years of life without noticing something like that?

…The same way they make it through twenty years without kissing anyone.

(Well, until _now._)

I didn't try, wasn't looking….

_Damn_.

I walk over to the wall and rest my head against it, letting my eyes slide shut.

_Damn._

I don't want this. I don't want to need anyone. I don't want my attention distracted from my sister.

_Damn, damn, damn._

Sometimes, when I'm in a particularly self-punishing mood I let myself wonder how mom and dad would feel if they knew that I'd never made it to college.

I'd been _planning_ on it. I'd been working part-time to pay for it…. Good thing too; gave me a head start on those hospital bills.

Now I wonder how they'd feel about _this_ little development.

I honestly have no clue. It's not a topic that ever came up with them.

Not that it matters. I kind of think that having a son who repetitively _kills_ people tops the charts for being a massive disappointment. It doesn't really get much worse than that. Everything else probably falls off the radar.

Or maybe not.

Well, it's inconsequential. They'll never know. They're quite thoroughly and unarguably _gone_.

For all my flippant allusions to it in the heat of battle…I've never really been able to believe in anything like an afterlife, you know…. I don't think Yohji does either, in spite of his bizarre penchant for crosses. I think they have more to do with his sense of humor than any inclination towards religion. He's got a really odd sense of humor.

I might be making assumptions though.

I've been making more of those lately than I'm comfortable with.

Which is why I'm now trying to really figure things out, instead of coasting by on any more dangerous assumptions.

Okay, I'll try looking at the facts.

First of all, Yohji claims to be interested in me. Which may or may not still be true.

Secondly…I…may or _may not_ be interested too.

Of course…I might or might not just be interested in what Yohji _represents_. Assuming any interest is present, of which I'm not willing to confirm or deny yet.

But Aya-chan is still in a coma. This is the only solid thing. That and the fact that everything above has already started to interfere with my focus on getting Aya better.

…Not that I was exactly making any progress on that _without_ the distractions.

I don't know what to do.

I wish I could ask Aya.

This wouldn't be freaking me out so much if I could just get her opinion on it. She's very level-headed. And insightful. She's the only person whose advice I'd really trust.

She's a bit of a romantic though. I suspect she would have told me to _go for it_.

…Followed with a wink and a promise to take him off my hands for me if it didn't work out.

I always suspected that Aya would like him.

I think that's why Yohji annoyed me from day one. I immediately saw the potential he held for coming between me and my sister. I just always assumed though that he'd try to take _her_ away from _me._

…Not the other way round.

_Damn_.

This is so fucked up.

Yohji's clothes are scattered all over the floor. He's a mess, in every sense of the word.

That's the last thing I need right now, right?

Aya would argue his case.

…I wouldn't listen to her though…right?

I always listened to her.

_Damn_.

I kick one of his shirts. It makes me feel better.

I hate his clothes. They're so…undignified. Utterly tasteless. I hate the way they gratuitously show off way more of his body than I was ever interested in looking at and make it almost impossible not to stare.

…The fact that staring is a problem should probably tell me something.

_Damn_.

I shut my eyes against the uninvited visual that accompanies that train of thought.

…And the even less invited _reaction_ it evokes.

…I think that my _body_ has just joined the ranks of things that I hate.

Traitor.

Fuck, this can't be happening.

I sit down on the nearest bed to try to get my bearings straight.

Yohji's voice in my head snickers at my unfortunate word choice.

…And the fact that I just accidently sat down on _his _bed.

How's it possible that he's even more annoying when he's not actually _here_, than when he is!

I'm my own worst enemy and I can't escape him.

And the worst thing is, I'm not even sure that he still wants me caught.

This has so much potential for tragic disaster.

Glaring at my lap does little to resolve my newly developed physical predicament. There are not words to adequately describe how profoundly disturbed I am that this is in any way related to Yohji.

No words.

I guess I need to just bite the bullet and ascertain how bad this really is.

Because I can't deny that the problem has just been upgraded to more severe than him simply 'getting to me.'

Big time.

I look around the room as if the mere deviance of my thoughts might have somehow attracted a lurking observer.

I'm alone, obviously.

The doors locked, right?

I get up and check. Then unlock it. Put the 'do not disturb' sign on the door knob. Double bolt it.

Not suspicious at _all_.

When I return I sit back on his bed. As long as I'm already being sketchy, I might as well not hold back.

Cause I am _definitely _being sketchy.

…I'm about to do the sketchiest thing I've ever done.

No.

In truth, I guess borrowing my invalid sister's name as a shield against bloodshed is probably THE sketchiest thing I've ever done.

…With nearly every single thing I've ever done in Weiβ competing as a close second.

Okay, so I guess it only _feels_ like the sketchiest thing I've ever done.

I'm a much sketchier person than I like to admit.

I close my eyes and lay back on Yohji's bed.

I rationalize that this isn't _actually_ Yohji's bed. It's just the hotel's. Yohji's only slept here two nights, and the sheets get changed out every day. It's not 'Yohji's bed' at all; it's just _some_ bed that Yohji _happened_ to sleep in.

…Which also happens to _smell_ like him.

I wasn't aware that I knew what he smelled like.

Goddamnit.

I shouldn't be surprised. I'm used to sharing a bathroom with him; it's inevitable that I'd notice that sort of thing. And he's very particular about his hygiene too. On this trip I've just been using whatever products the hotels provide…but Yohji immediately went out and bought duplicates of most of the things he keeps at home: his favorite shampoo, his soap, his…ten or more other products whose purposes I don't quite grasp or understand.

Seriously, from the look of things, you'd think I was traveling with a _girl_.

…If Yohji were a girl I probably wouldn't be having this problem.

Hell.

I shut my eyes tighter as if that could afford me some sort of protection from my noisy thoughts. It doesn't make my mind shut up, but the lack of outside stimulus does make me more acutely aware of the…state…of…my….

I cringe and reach down.

This isn't something I do very often. I hate it. It feels like a weakness. Up until this point I've always focused on dealing with that weakness as efficiently as possible. I've never allowed myself to think of another _person_ while I touch myself. I think the idea is creepy.

I know that _I_ wouldn't want someone else thinking of me while doing that….

…Unless, maybe….

Oh god, I wonder if _Yohji_ has thought….

…Of course he has.

He's Yohji.

I feel dirty.

…And more turned on.

My sanity is doomed.

I have to back-track. _Stop_ thinking about Yohji; try thinking about someone else. Maybe I'm just simply turned on. The _who _could be irrelevant. Maybe this has nothing to do with Yohji at all.

I try to block out the persistently permeating eau d'Yohji and focus on visualizing a random actress. There's this one in particular that Yohji never fails to smirk at when she comes on TV.

…_Stop that_, this thought was supposed to be sans Yohji.

…Anyway, she's really pretty. The magazines call her sexy. I'm sure I'm not the first person to think about her while doing this.

-Although I'm probably the first person to think about her while doing 'this' and feel nothing at all. Well, besides _uncomfortable._

I don't know her though. I like to think I'm not a superficial person. I bet I need to really know someone in order to be attracted to them. I don't care so much about looks, anyway.

I accidently think of Sakura.

Now _that_ warrants a reaction, although it is the opposite of what I'm looking for. My awkward physical state is almost instantaneously cured. I'm far less compromised than I was a few seconds ago.

She's just _way _too similar to Aya-chan. I'm completely horrified that my mind even wandered there.

Poor Sakura. I actually _wanted_ to give her a chance. It's not _her_ fault that she reminds me so concretely of my sister.

Not her fault… But there's just no chance in hell. Can't go there.

I distract myself by thinking of a whole haphazard line-up of girls without much results. This is definitely answering a few of my questions.

I switch to _guys_. I try picturing the random one who works at the tea shop down the street from the flower shop.

…Not so much.

But the clerk from the post office is an entirely different story. I can't really miss the way my breath involuntarily catches as my hand pulls away. How much…_tighter_ everything feels.

Goddamn fucking hell.

Denial's a bitch.

I freeze and open my eyes, staring up at the ceiling for a moment as if it might somehow hold an answer for me. It's blank and unhelpful…. Not even a suspiciously shaped crack.

Screw it.

Time to shove aside this sham of a scientific 'experiment.'

My hand goes back to its mechanical movements born of instinct. I re-close my eyes and just focus on the physical sensation to clear my mind.

Then I let it fall on Yohji.

It's too easy to picture Yohji's hands instead of mine. They're so _familiar_; less burdened by calluses, but the lack is made up for in prolific scarring. Not many people notice this though. They're nearly invisible. Wire scars are hard to detect with the untrained eye.

…I know Yohji's painfully conscious of them though.

…And _I_ sure notice.

…I apparently notice lots of things about Yohji.

…But I'm losing my capacity to articulate them. I'm losing my ability to pretty much do anything but struggle to catch my breath as my body picks up a frantic pace entirely on its own accord.

I did not give permission.

I can't stop.

I come harder than I ever have in my entire life.

I'm still thinking about Yohji when it's over.

Just…fuck.

I'm screwed.

I wipe my hand off on my shirt, careful not to get anything on the bed, in spite of the fact it will all get washed before Yohji returns. I don't want to further encourage this building sense of guilt and horror that's edging in.

_Panic._

I don't think I can face him right away.

I don't know if I can face him _ever_.

No, I can deal with this.

I just need to clear my head, let my hormones settle. I have pretty good self-control; now that I've come to terms with this it shouldn't be so difficult to put a stop to it. Admitting something's supposed to be the most difficult step, right?

I can deal with this.

I'll _fix_ it.

It would sure help if I could somehow see Aya-chan though….

…I'm an idiot.

It suddenly, unexpectedly dawns on me that I've only been thinking of distance in terms of the way I've traveled it. Tokyo feels so far away because we came here by _car_…. And Yohji didn't even stick to main highways.

But realistically…if I took the Shinkansen…I could be home in less than three hours.

Aya-chan isn't actually far away at all.

I could theoretically see her and be back here in time for dinner.

And Yohji would have no room to complain. Not for all of his solitary 'walks.'

I cringe at the thought of the cost for such extravagant measures. It's a ridiculously expensive option. One I wouldn't even consider on a normal day.

This…is not a normal day.

And it's what I _need_ to do. It will give me time to think, I can clear my head. Seeing Aya will put things back in perspective.

I rapidly change my clothes, burying my shirt at the very bottom of our duffle bag. I'll wash it when I get back, Yohji hopefully won't notice. I need to get to the train station.

I at least have the decency of leaving _him _a note.


	23. Breaking down

"I just can't stop myself from breaking down  
It's just no good unless you come around  
I turn into a monster  
All my friends agree"

-Yohji-

I knew he was gone before I even found the note.

The moment I opened the door, the room just felt…_wrong_.

Not from visual cues either…everything seemed exactly how it had been when I'd left in the morning (in other words, a bit of a disorganized mess; but the kind of mess where you know where everything is.) Even the things of Aya's that I had carelessly flung out of our duffle bag remained where I'd scattered them. There was nothing to indicate that Aya hadn't just momentarily stepped out. It was just a feeling.

Sometimes on missions I'll get a bit of a premonition right before things start to go wrong. I'll step into a room, and something about it will be off, but it'll take me a moment to process the incongruity. It might be no more than a piece of furniture not matching the floor plans we'd been given, but the feeling it gives me has made the difference between making it home and becoming a Kritiker statistic. I _always_ trust hunches. And today hit me with a bad one.

My stomach dropped as my fingers slid off the cold steel of the doorknob. The emptiness of the room had an intangible permanence to it. Our previously cohabited dwelling did not have the air of a place whose occupant had left to get lunch, or take a walk. It felt abandoned.

I've spent more than my fair share of time in abandoned places. I'm unfortunately familiar with the atmosphere.

I shut the door very carefully, as if Aya might have simply turned invisible, and I risked disturbing him with my intrusion. I immediately start to scan the room, searching for some sort of confirmation to my suspicions, but as I said, the room is undisturbed.

I have to go into the bathroom to find his note. It's taped to the mirror. There's nothing unusual in that; it's a common place for him to leave me notes. He knows there's no chance of me not finding it there…sooner or later. What _is_ unusual is the content. The notes are usually trivial. Like: _I switched our schedule in the shop today, be home by noon_. Or, _Remember to buy milk when you go out_, or even, _Some airhead called and cancelled your date tonight_.

If you didn't put too much thought into it, this current note might not have seemed any different.

_Yohji._

_Had to take care of something. Back tonight._

_Probably._

_Aya._

Probably.

Aya could have chucked his katana at me and the impact would have hurt less.

I stare for a moment, vacantly absorbing the image of myself, reflection cleanly bisected by yellow note paper. His meticulous handwriting leaves no room to question the message's content. An uneasy hollow feeling starts to settle in my chest, and I have to sit down on the side of the bathtub, although my eyes remain glued to the mirror.

He's _gone_.

No question.

Gone.

And…I'm not sure what to do.

I keep staring at the mirror. Each time I let my eyes fall on the harsh ink I masochistically hope for a second that I read it wrong. That _this_ time the note will say something different.

Nope. The _probably_'s still there.

'Probably' is barely a step above _maybe_. It's what girls say when you ask them out and they want to let you down easy. It's the empty reassurance of a parent who knows their kid will forget their promise before it comes due.

If Aya is anything, he's convicted. Words like _probably_ just aren't his style.

Or…_weren't_.

I could maybe imagine him saying it before departing on a mission. _I'll probably be back. If someone doesn't kill me._

I'm torturing myself by reading it over and over. It takes some effort to break the cycle and wrench myself away from the note by leaving the bathroom. Once freed from the condemning sentence, I know what I have to do to confirm my suspicions.

My hand burrows through a tangle of fabric, searching out the feel of hard plastic. At some point along the way Aya picked up a pencil box to store all those temple charms he's been collecting. It was filling up pretty quick. It wouldn't surprise me at all if Aya discarded his clothing, but I somehow suspect he wouldn't leave without the box. The charms have been too integral to this whole trip for him to cast them aside.

I knew the box would be gone before I checked too. It was just necessary to go through the motions. Nothing in our duffle bag but clothes.

He's gone.

Home. _Probably_.

What the hell do I do now?

I sit down on the edge of the bed, _Aya's_ bed, which is neatly made, unlike mine. He made the bed. Even though the hotel staff is going to come in and remake it. I can't help smiling a bit, in spite of the building sense of despondency that's creeping in. I guess I didn't make so much progress on teaching the guy how to relax.

Which is _probably_ why he went home.

I'm surprised to find myself wanting to go home too.

Since when did I start thinking of the Koneko as 'home' anyway? It was just a _place_ where I _had_ to live. _Home_ was my _old_ apartment. Asuka's apartment was home too. Home was supposed to be the new apartment we were going to find together, but never got the chance to.

The Koneko no Sumu Ie was just a transitory residence. At least, that was my perspective once.

Funny how easily things can change without you noticing. I guess the Koneko's been home for a while now.

Well. It might have _been_ home, but I still wasn't really planning on going back. Not really. And when I made that plan I was hardly expecting Aya to stick around. I packed our stuff assuming he'd opt out. I'd been okay with that.

So how come I'm not okay now?

Cause...I'm really _not_ okay. I feel like I've been punched in the gut.

I only spent a couple of days with him. I wouldn't have expected things could change that fast.

...I'm deluding myself if I think anything has changed. This thing with Aya has been building for a while. I just didn't notice, sort of like that whole Koneko 'home' thing.

Shit.

What do I do?

Do I go back? Goddamn it, I _want_ to go back. That wouldn't look so great though, would it? I pretty much told Aya he was my only anchor to Tokyo. Leaving means he's expecting me to leave too. It would look pretty desperate and needy if I followed him back after being rejected.

…Do I care how I _look_? No.

…But I care what Aya _thinks_.

And he obviously doesn't want that.

Shit.

Well, the hotel room is already paid through tomorrow. I guess it makes no sense to go anywhere yet. I'll give him until check-out time to make good on his note. If...he doesn't show up, I'll carry on with my trip. I might as well ride out my plans for the week before making any ultimate decisions about where I'll end up. Maybe I'll go home. Or maybe I'll find a new one. I might even leave Japan; I guess I don't have to decide right away.

Outlining a plan makes me feel better, even if the plan is just to postpone making plans.

But my plan still leaves me with an awful lot of time to kill. So, again, the question is, what do I do?

I think I've had enough of sightseeing for the moment. The thought of going out around the town again only makes me feel tired.

I pick up a guidebook and idly thumb through it, momentarily entertaining the idea of mapping out the rest of my trip. Without having to consider Aya's preferences, I suddenly have a lot more options for what I can do. That should be fun, right? Planning out almost a whole week of going wherever the hell I want? Gives me a bright side, something to look forward to and take the edge off of feeling abandoned.

Flipping through the pages turns up photos of craft markets. Zen gardens. Fucking _sword _museums. And temples. Tens upon _thousands_ of temples.

…Not a goddamned place in the whole damn thing that I'd care to go to without Aya. Leaving the country suddenly takes on an extra edge of appeal. Maybe I should pick somewhere random, that I've never even considered visiting before. Like…I could go to Ecuador. Yeah, that sounds like a place that might have some nice beaches (preferably populated by hot babes.) More importantly, I bet there'd be nothing in South America to remind me of Aya and torture me into missing him.

...Actually, those aren't odds I'd lay money down on.

I toss the book at the wall and it skims the edge of the TV set, making it wobble precariously for a moment. My eyes follow its descent to the floor, where it lands coincidentally close to another book. _Aya's_ book, more like a tome, really. I pick it up.

I'm reminded for a second that in spite of whatever else has happened, Aya opened up to me. He trusted me with things that may not really make all that much sense, but their importance was clear. I'm especially reminded that there's a whole lot to Aya that doesn't fit into the predictable personality I'm in the habit of assuming of him. Or at least, a whole lot to _Ran_.

Hm.

It's a fucking heavy book. I'm just about to put it down again when something stops me. I might be facing quite a lot of time to kill, and I still don't feel like going out.

So long as I'm already resigned to brooding about you-know-who, it could hardly hurt to finish reading it. Reread it, even. Reading is definitely a good time killer, and this looks like my most promising option.

I sling the thing under my arm and make my way down to the hotel bar. For once it seems like a healthier atmosphere--healthier than staying in the room anyway, where I'd probably spend more time staring at the door than at the text. Well, that's my excuse anyway, and I'm sticking to it.

* * *

I don't think I've ever tried reading in a bar before. It…_seemed _like a good idea. I like bars (a lot.) I like to read. I'm not exactly in the mood to chat people up right now, so I didn't have much _else_ to do here.

I think I've read the same paragraph eight times now.

The bartender keeps smirking at me in a really irritating way. I find it extra irritating because I usually really like bartenders. Most of them have interesting things to say. This guy doesn't have anything to say at all, other than obnoxious snickers as he hands me a new Asahi Super Dry, as if there's something really weird about complimenting that with _Hans My Hedgehog_.

Okay, so I know that _is_ weird. Shut up.

It might not be so bad if I wasn't getting stared at on multiple fronts. A lady in a business suit parked herself a few stools away and has barely taken her eyes off me. I can tell that she's trying to get up her nerve to come over and talk. Each time I look in her direction her head quickly darts back towards her drink, but her attention never stays there for long. Not long ago I would have capitalized on the opportunity and probably gone home with her.

Er…maybe not _home_. Gone…_somewhere_.

The concept isn't even remotely appealing just now. Maybe in a few more weeks I'll be back to normal, and feel differently about that.

…Yeah, right.

This isn't something I'll so easily move on from. It was bad enough being haunted by Asuka. Now every person I meet is going to get weighed against _two_ impossible standards. And if Asuka was irreplaceable, I don't even want to think about trying to find another Aya. It's not going to happen.

I'm totally fucked.

I'd been on to something with my 'don't get attached' philosophy. I guess this serves me right.

I go back to my attempt at reading with renewed intensity. I don't want to actually think about anything until check-out time. I just want to be distracted. Returning to my struggle with focusing on talking hedgehogs proves less fruitful than I hope.

"…_Pulled off her beautiful clothes and stuck her with his quills until she was bloody all over."_

...This book is a _terrible _distraction. No wonder Aya has issues.

I take a swig of beer and just stare at the page unseeingly for a few moments, feeling intense eyes on my back, cringing a bit as a man sitting near me gratingly chews on an ice cube. And then another. And _another_. Although it's never something that's especially bothered me before, tonight I'm finding the shattering crunch of it about on par with nails on a chalkboard. A guy could develop a nervous tick hanging around that dude for too long.

When I move to take another drink I realize I've been gripping the can so hard I've dented it.

I set it down. I think I need something stronger than beer, anyway.

The bartender meets my request with incensing smugness.

"I'm not supposed to serve _minors_," he snarks with a nod to my reading material.

I almost snap back something obscene but manage to bite my tongue. The last thing I need to do is give the asshole an excuse to spit in my scotch. Anyway, the time I've spent around Aya has allowed me to elevate my glaring skills to an art form.

My drink appears much more promptly than expected and the bartender is suddenly very occupied in chatting with someone down the counter.

It's almost amusing.

Though if Aya were here he'd probably be disapprovingly remarking about the predictability of my coping with alcohol.

In one instant of complete and total insanity I almost pour my drink out.

Then my brain starts working again and I drain half the glass in one gulp. If I'm going to alter my behavior to suit Aya he'd better damn well be around to appreciate it.

Jesus, I've got it _bad_.

I've sunk so low over my glass that I don't even notice that Miss Shifty Eyes has encroached into my space until she speaks.

"Kid problems?" She asks, not surprisingly eyeing my book, the false sympathy in her voice utterly failing to conceal a tone of hopefulness.

I nearly laugh. I have got to be the very _last _person she'd want in any kind of proximity to her children, if she had even half a clue of who I was. But then, her standards are probably pretty low if she's scoping out potential father figures in a bar full of depressed drunks.

"Nope," I say, hoping to discourage her attention with curtness.

It doesn't work, of course.

"You look like someone who likes them," she continues persistently, sitting down uninvited.

_You're talking to the wrong assassin_, my mind counters unhelpfully. _If you want tainted child care, try scoping out soccer coaches._

My mouth is opened to counter, but I find myself hesitating. I'm being stared at head on by an opportunity to put this past week completely behind me, and go right back to where I left off, familiarly numb and in good company.

I've never tried dating chicks with kids. It might be good for me.

I make eye contact. She smiles, and it comes off just a little bit more genuine than her lousy ice breaker.

She might even pass as attractive if she could undo the stress lines pinching her face….

I let my eyes briefly cruise over her precisely applied makeup, her carefully layered hair.

I don't feel a _thing_.

Sigh.

"Sorry, I'm gay."

Not the first time I've dropped that line, strangely. It's usually a no-fail way to deflect unwanted attention from women I don't feel like dealing with. It is however the first time I've spoken it as an uncomfortable half-truth instead of a smoothly rehearsed lie. I suppose the ease with which it always came to me might have clued me in to something.

My voice is lacking its usual confidence though. I sound defeated.

"You sure about that?" Her hand invasively trails across my knee. "Maybe you just haven't met the right girl yet."

She couldn't possibly have said anything worse.

"Oh, I _met_ her," My fingers close around hers, but only to stiffly pry them off of my thigh. "But you wouldn't find her hanging around a place like this."

My frigid words remove her as effectively as my glare did the bartender. Tomorrow I'll probably regret not being nicer. Right now I'm just grateful to have regained my solitude.

It only takes a second to drain my glass. I pause for a moment to stare at the now empty vessel. I consider going back to the room. I consider going back to my _car_. The options are countless.

Going AWOL on Weiβ would doubtlessly add several years to my life.

I try to picture myself enjoying them.

I can't.

With the prospect of never seeing Aya again, it starts to feel more like a sentence than a reprieve.

I could do without that sort of extension. I'm already a little too burned out on regrets as it is.

I pull out a cigarette and signal for another drink.


	24. Enchantment is broken

**A/N:** _The title to this chapter deviates from my usual pattern, and is taken from the song 'The Charlatan's Lament' by The Waterboys._

* * *

"Here I am  
Enchantment is broken  
I merged with the crowd  
Oaths have been spoken  
inside and out loud"

-Aya-

Here I am, back in Tokyo, and I'm trying to suppress an entirely irrational deluge of guilt as I hand my change over to the cashier.

The source of my guilt is not the completely overpriced and gratuitously lengthy detour I just took without first checking with Yohji.

No, that would almost make sense.

I feel bad because I went out of my way to find a flower shop on the other side of town. Buying alstroemeria from a competitor feels surprisingly traitorous.

Stupid. It's not like the point of the Koneko no Sumu Ie is actually to turn a profit selling _flowers_. It doesn't matter if business is good, just so long as the cover holds up.

Nonetheless, an entirely unexpected surge of loyalty causes me to shoot a glare at the (obviously inferior) flora I'm grasping. The stems haven't been cut very evenly; some of the leaves are bruised. It's clearly obvious to me that whoever prepared this bouquet wasn't half as careful in their handling as _I_ would have been.

…Probably because it was just a job to them. Not…a reprieve.

I used to find the obligation of working in a shop a ridiculous waste of time. Just another thing getting in the way of my revenge. Strange how attached one can get to an obligatory hassle.

I think my sanity would have evaporated much sooner without that obligation, though. Being forced to pretend that I'm normal for four to eight hours a day went a lot farther than you'd expect into deluding myself that I actually could be. I'm good at pretending.

Note that I said 'sooner' though. As I've admitted before, I'm not so deluded as to think that rationality is a character trait still in my possession.

…Obviously. No sane person would be experiencing this kind of mental turmoil just from purchasing flowers.

I _always_ bring Aya flowers when I visit though. And there is no way in hell I'm going to swing by the Koneko to get some _today_. Explaining this week's past harebrained…(I'm not even sure what to call it)…_thing_…is Yohji's job. I refuse to let him off so easily by going back there without him.

Besides, I do actually want to see the week out, I'm surprised to admit. I have a suspicious inkling that were I to stop home Ken or Omi would somehow devise a way to hold me hostage until Yohji resurfaced too. Better to avoid that whole mess until we're both actually ready to face the inquisition. Together.

No, that's not quite right.

It's not that I _want_ to. It's just that I already _agreed_ to it.

I promised Yohji.

That's all.

I _always_ follow through on my promises. I might be a lot of things but I'm not a quitter.

That's really all it is.

I'm _obligated_ to go back, and seeing Ken and Omi before the scheduled rendezvous would definitely throw a wrench in the plan.

I keep staring at the flowers as I walk. It's easier to focus on the inferiority of the arrangement than to let my mind dwell too hard on…_other things_.

The hospital is exactly how I left it, not seeming to have missed me in my absence.

Well, I'm sure as far as the normal world is concerned, five or so days hardly counts as an absence. Normal people don't spend that much time in hospitals. After two whole years with no improvements, no changed prognosis, normal people probably wouldn't visit as much as once a week. I'm usually here at least three days a week, though. It feels like I've been gone an eternity.

_It's not like Aya could have missed you._

My eyes are still glued to the flowers as I enter her room. My movements are mechanical as I switch them out with the faded blossoms left over from my last visit.

_It's not like it matters if the flowers aren't as nice._

_She doesn't even know they're there._

I still take the time to arrange them in the vase just right. Habit, I guess.

I've done this so many times.

The chair I sit down in is almost as familiar as my own bed. More familiar, actually. I pretty much only use my room to sleep in. And Aya….

…Looks _exactly_ the same.

Exactly the same as she did at my last visit.

And the visit before that.

…And before _that_.

Aya looks _exactly_ the same as she did on the most horrible day of my life when I first found myself standing in this hospital room and trying to figure out what just what the hell I could have done wrong to warrant my entire life to come crashing down around me like it did.

_Exactly_.

I'm not sure if I actually believe them, but they say she hasn't even aged.

Sounds crazy, doesn't it.

They also said she had less than a fifteen percent chance of waking up, and I'm not sure I believe _that_, either.

She's special.

I _know_ it.

…If she weren't, she would have aged…_right_?

She would have…deteriorated.

What's the _point_ in her not aging if she _doesn't_ wake up?

Could the world really be _that_ random and meaningless?

_Yes_.

Well anyway, you can't really blame me for holding on to such insane notions as I have. Not when even the _doctors_ are saying impossible things. When you look at her she really _does_ seem…_bespelled_.

Yeah, I know, I'm crazy.

There are worse kinds of crazy.

I pull out the box of omamori charms and select one I remember finding at one of the quieter temples. It's smaller than the others. I gently open her fingers and slip it beneath a very, _very_ familiar shard of gold.

My throat constricts a little looking at it. It doesn't matter that every single day I see that earring's identical mate. I have to close her hand again quickly.

The other charms are unceremoniously hung from the bed frame. It doesn't look like quite as many hanging there as they seemed like in their box.

_Just another verification that I have to go back to Yohji. I need more charms._

The excuses come so easily.

I'm left holding a mostly empty box. There are still three paper cranes folded at the bottom of it.

I'm assuming _Yohji_ made them.

It kind of baffles me.

I didn't know that Yohji knew how to do things like origami. And I'm not sure why, possessing those undeclared skills, he'd suddenly decide to utilize them in the middle of a public tourist attraction.

…Only to throw them away.

If one thing has proved constant about Yohji, it's that he's _unpredictable_.

Which is just a nice way of saying he's _weird_.

I feel just a tiny bit less depressed though, as I arrange the cranes around the bottom of the flower vase. They brighten the room up quite a bit.

It almost looks like a room where someone is _recovering_.

…Almost.

I wish _I_ had made them, though. The last time I tried my hand at origami the results weren't half that nice. There were lots of creases in places where creases shouldn't be. The corners always come out dented when I try.

Yohji's cranes look _good_. They're very crisp and neat. They don't look anything at all like something I would associate with Yohji.

_Except_…I have a hard time remembering that he's actually got a bit of an artistic streak.

It doesn't surface often. It's most frequent manifestation is pretty much limited to his…more _creative_ fashion sense. But every now and then he reminds us by leaving rather elaborate doodles in the margins of invoice slips and the Koneko's order forms.

Oh, right. I go out of my way to _not_ remember that.

…Yohji's doodles aren't usually very…_work appropriate_.

The jab of irritation that usually accompanies that thought is strangely absent. I suppose it's easier to see the humor he so readily finds in it, when you're not scrambling to shove his porn-adorned paperwork out of sight after it 'accidently' appears in front of a hoard of impressionable school kids.

I can't believe I put up with that shit.

…I can't believe I'm wasting precious minutes with my sister thinking about it.

_About Yohji._

But that's why I'm here, I have to guiltily remind myself. I didn't come back to see Aya. I'm here _because_ I was thinking about Yohji, and I _need_ Aya to help me sort that out.

"I've got a problem," I announce to my static sibling.

_Yeah, that's news_.

I hesitate. Not for loss of words, I just don't feel right not giving her a chance to reply. It doesn't matter that no answer is anticipated.

"You're going to find it really funny, actually," I stall. It's harder than I expect to say aloud; regardless of the fact that I don't really believe she can hear me. It was hard enough to admit to myself. Vocalizing the issue makes it _real._

"When you wake up you'll make fun of me for weeks." I optimistically tarry.

Save for the constant blipping of the monitors, the room is silent.

_Just say it._

"You know…" I find myself staring at the IV drip instead of her. I can't even make eye contact with someone whose eyes are _closed_. "…You know how you used to always get on my case about needing to find a girlfriend?"

She doesn't _need_ to answer. I know exactly what she'd say. I can imagine her voice perfectly.

…Which is weird because for the life of me I can hardly remember what our parents sounded like anymore.

Another thing I never let myself think about.

"Well, there's a reason I never did. I mean, there's _lots_ of reasons, but one of them is kind of major."

I allow an appropriate lapse for the absent pique of interest.

"I haven't really dealt with it very well," I mutter, my voice dropping with every sentence. "But now there's _someone_ and he's _forcing_ me to deal with it."

My eyes snap back to Aya. In spite of myself, I almost expect the incomprehensibility of my confession to jar _some_ sort of reaction out of her. Can she really just continue to _lie_ there, as I declare that my sanity is spiraling out of control, all because of a _him_?

Of course she can. I suppose that my 'problem' is hardly as world-altering as it seems inside my head.

Compared to the reality of a coma it can hardly even be ranked as a _problem_. Matters of life and death are _problems_. Aya's health is a _problem_. The missions that I'm sentenced to carry out are full of _problems_. This is just an awkward social situation that I may or may not end up handling badly. In the grand scheme of things it's not really all that important.

…Or is it?

Yohji acts like it's important.

I wish I understood him better.

Scratch that. I wish I understood _myself_ better. I know what my problem is. My problem is that I _think_ I like him. Like? God, that sounds so juvenile. Of course I like him--I like Ken and Omi too--not that I'd be one to start prancing about dropping those sorts of touchy-feely declarations where everyone could hear them. I know I like Yohji, but I'm starting to think I might actually _want_ him. I _think_ but I'm not sure. I'm not sure because I've spent such a fucking long time trying to live for my sister that I'm no longer sure anymore where my own feelings end and where I'm just projecting. I've let myself dwell on her so much that it's fucked me up in the head.

And that's _definitely_ not something that would make her happy.

_Fuck_.

Yohji actually makes a surprising amount of sense to me, come to think of it. His personality is a fucking open book compared to this mangled mess that is the assassin formally known as Ran.

I continue staring at Aya, searching her unresponsive form for an _answer_.

I already know what her answer would be, though. I didn't need to come here to find it. She'd tell me that I won't figure things out unless I _try_ them.

…I want a different answer.

Aya's answer would have been a good one for _Ran_.

Perfectly logical for some kid in school. Or an eighteen-year-old trying to save up money for college by waiting tables.

It's not an answer that can comprehend the dynamics of having all of your friends' lives hanging in the balance of whether or not you can keep your emotional shit together.

"Well, anyway, you'll like him," I say half-heartedly, giving up on the idea that this hospital room might provide me with some sort of magical epiphany. It's more to convince myself than her. "I can't wait to get a chance to introduce you."

The words feel funny on my tongue. Not long ago the very thought of them meeting would have nearly sent me into a panic attack.

"Just don't even think about falling for his romantic bullshit," I add.

"Only an idiot would."

The corner of my mouth twitches slightly as I shove the chair aside.

"A _total_ idiot," I mutter as I leave the room.

I'm so preoccupied in my self-indulgently angst-ridden thoughts that I nearly collide with one of the nurses as I pass the front desk.

She _beams_ at me. I find it disconcerting; looks of conditioned sympathy are all I'm used to around here.

"Long time, no see, Fujimiya-san," she says facetiously.

I know it's meant as a joke. I haven't been gone long at all…_unless you're me_. It makes me feel awful, anyway.

Her cheerful expression falters slightly as she picks up my darkening mood.

"You look well," she says a little more hesitantly.

Huh?

I stare at her blankly.

"Less tired," she elaborates. "Sometimes I wonder if you ever sleep, Fujimiya-san. I have to admit that you worry me sometimes. I know you're not a patient but you spend so much time here that I can't help feeling somewhat responsible."

_Oh_.

Of course I look _tired_. Spending your nights hunting monsters does that to a person.

As if she could know that.

As if knowing would make her worry _less_.

I shrug noncommittally.

"Well…" she says, sensing the awkwardness that her compliment unexpectedly elicited, "whatever you've been doing differently you should keep it up. It's good to see you looking healthier. It'll be good for your sister, too."

I have to force myself not to wince at her words. The room suddenly feels several degrees warmer and I'm grasped by a pressing need to _escape_.

I afford her a wordless nod and all but run to the nearest bathroom.

My reflection, as I stare into the mirror, does not provide any stunning revelation like the nurse seemed to experience. She must have been imagining things, because I don't see any difference.

My skin is still unnaturally washed out. My eyes are still ringed by unflattering shadows.

I look _bad_, but no better or worse than I'd consider normal.

…There _is_ a difference though, I'm surprised to notice.

I might still _look_ bad, but I _feel_ different.

Usually…my haggard appearance barely even hints at the depths of my physical exhaustion. I'm pretty used to feeling like complete and utter crap.

But right now…I don't actually feel half bad. Mental issues excluded.

I might actually go so far as to say that I look worse than I feel.

Huh.

What a novel idea.

_It's just the break from missions_, logic reminds me.

Regardless, I feel an unfamiliar sense of calm as I make my way back to the train station.

In fact, it lasts the whole trip back to the hotel. Lasts right up until my hand closes around the doorknob of our room and I find it locked.

My newfound calm is quickly displaced by familiar irrational panic.

_He's gone?_

_Maybe Yohji didn't find the note._

_Maybe he thought you bailed and saw no reason to stay._

…_Maybe he found the note and saw no reason to stay anyway_.

I shouldn't be panicking. _I'm_ the one who ran off first. If Yohji's gone then my 'problem' has disappeared with him. I'm absolved of making a decision.

_But if he's gone, you know it's permanent. He'll be gone for good. You won't even get a fucking goodbye._

…_that's definitely not what you want._

Want? What _do_ I want? That's been the question all along here.

All I can ever seem to grasp is what I _don't_ want.

I don't want him to go before….

…Before _what_?

I don't know how to finish the sentence.

…Just that I can't stand the idea of him disappearing on me without….

…I can't finish _that_ sentence either.

My knock on the door is met with no answer.

I look at my watch. It's eleven PM.

Ridiculous.

There is absolutely _nothing_ strange in Yohji being out at this time of night. It would probably be more worrisome to find him actually in the room.

I guess some self-centered part of me expected _him_ to be worried and waiting.

Did I really leave hoping to inflict that?

_No_.

I fail to completely convince myself.

God, I'm an asshole.

I wander back to the front desk and am reassured that Yohji hasn't checked out. But he also hasn't left the key at the desk, which he should have if he'd gone out.

…He's _somewhere_ in the building. Or should be.

_If he's not dead inside our room._ My mind never wastes any time diving to dark unsavory places.

I shove the thought aside and go to the most obvious, logical place that Yohji would be.

And I'm not disappointed.

I find him quite predictably passed out across a sticky end of the bar's counter, one hand still grasped around a half emptied tumbler of thoroughly unappealing amber liquid.

A little less predictable is the discovery of him using a book as a pillow.

…_The book I gave him_.

Yohji…drank himself unconscious while reading my book?

I'm…not quite sure what _that_ means.

I feel a little bit odd as I pull him up enough to shut it. The movement doesn't wake him. He's knocked himself completely out.

I don't like that.

Although I would have liked it even less had I failed to locate him.

I'm in a bit of a daze as I pay his bar tab and lug him back to our room.

"Idiot," I say aloud, all but flinging him onto the bed.

I'm not really sure who I'm talking to though.


	25. All I was looking for was you

**A/N:**

1. IMPORTANT: I had to censor this chapter in order to post here (literally, about 1/3 of this chapter is missing.) I will be posting the uncensored version on mediaminer, and in my writing journal. You can find it under my account 'Yotan' on livejournal dot com.

2. Lots of bad manners are represented below. If you go to an onsen I don't actually recommend emulating the behavior described in this chapter (splashing, staring, listening to headphones, etc.)

* * *

"The lies I told you kept them through  
Nobody knows me like you do  
All I was looking for was you"

**-Yohji-**

I'm used to hangovers. Although I have to say for all my experience with them, I'm also pretty good at avoiding them. I know all the tricks.

I guess I didn't use them this time.

My attempt at sitting up as I wake rewards me with a cleaving jolt of pain through my forehead. It's so sharp that for a moment my vision swims a little, as if I were still drunk.

I lie back down again. The less I have to move the happier I know I'll be. It might just be necessary to never move again. I don't know, the jury's still out on that one.

For some reason it feels like I haven't had a hangover in a while, though. Which just makes the pain feel all the more excruciating. It can be pretty nasty when you haven't built up a tolerance.

Why is that?

Ah, right. I haven't had a hangover in a while because I haven't been going out. I've toned down the drinking because I've been with _Aya_.

Aya.

The name instantly causes a jolt of tension to sear through me. There is some sort of problem with Aya. I get the nagging sensation that he's very intimately connected to the source of my hangover.

…Which is _completely_ absent from my memory.

Along with about 85% of whatever else happened in the past 24 hours. Shit. How much did I drink?

I sit up again, more abruptly this time, indifferent to the pain now. My head screams at me as I swing it around, searching for some sort of clue to whatever might be wrong.

The anxiousness comes without a need for memories to fuel it. I seem to just innately suspect him to be gone.

If I'm honest, I've expected him to disappear nearly every time he's left my sight. It really is pretty unfathomable he's stuck around as long as he has so far.

Has that finally been rectified?

My question is answered by the cold sweat of a water glass shoved into my hand.

"From what I can recall, you're going to want to drink several of those," Aya dryly comments.

When I look up to meet his face, it's closed of any telling emotion. But he has a bottle of painkillers in his other hand and is watching me very intently. As if _I_ was the mysterious unreadable one and not him.

I take the bottle and shake out a few tablets without even checking to see what kind they are. Draining the whole glass of water makes little impact on the uncomfortable flannelly feel of my mouth and throat. I thrust it back at him, hoping he'll oblige to refill it for me, which he graciously does.

Ugh, I feel _awful_.

And yet…better.

I draw myself up and take closer stock of my situation. I'm still in the clothes that (I think) I was wearing yesterday. I obviously got myself blitzed and have no memory at all of coming back to the room. The last thing I can remember is some lady I tried without success to cultivate an interest in. Did she help me back here?

When I shoot Aya an inquisitive glance he suddenly seems very interested in refolding our clothes into the duffle bag.

"You think you'll feel well enough to get back on the road?" He asks gruffly, scrutinizing a shirt.

The throbbing in my head suddenly seems to pick up its pace. Is he suggesting a need to accelerate our trek home?

I nod tentatively, and quickly regret the superfluous motion.

"Good," he says, still paying more attention to just about every object in the room than to me, "we have a lot of driving to do."

"Oh?" I say, trying not to give away how damn curious he's made me. Up until this point, Aya's been largely acting like a hostage. He's made a big show of trying to make the most out of the places I've dragged him, but he certainly hasn't taken any initiative to actually plan ahead. All of the sudden he has an agenda?

"Yes," he replies unhelpfully.

"Where're we going?" I concede to asking.

"Kyushu."

Kyushu, huh? That's pretty vague. I stare at him expectantly hoping he'll elaborate without forcing me to beg for details.

Aya makes the mistake of glancing at me and our eyes briefly connect. He looks uncomfortable.

It finally occurs to me to worry about what I might have said (or _done_,) in the hours missing from my memory of last night.

Knowing myself, it was probably bad.

…Couldn't have been _too_ awful though, or I'd currently be missing body parts….

My disquiet is interrupted by a dramatic sigh. "You _wanted_ to go there, right?" He asks, "You said you did."

I nod. Very, very carefully.

It still feels like my brain has been liquefied and is sloshing around with the movement.

"Onsens, right?" he persists. "I thought you wanted to go there for the hot springs."

Maybe I'm still drunk, because I think I'm audibly hallucinating.

…Cause it sounded to me like Aya just suggested we go somewhere with hot springs. Together. As in, quality time. Sans clothing.

Not fucking likely!

I stare at him uncomprehendingly.

"You've changed your mind?" Exasperation is written all over his face.

"No," I say, cautiously waiting for him to reveal the catch. "It's just…that doesn't sound like something you'd want to do." I tactfully leave off the '_with me' _part.

He just shrugs and goes back to obsessively packing. "They're supposed to be good for your health, aren't they?" he mutters, more to himself than to me. "I've been told mine could use improving."

* * *

The drive is very long and on top of that, once there it takes us significantly longer to settle on a place to stay than I'd anticipated. Like so many other aspects of this trip, my idea to go to an Onsen wasn't extensively thought out. My foresight for problems got stuck on the idea that there was simply no way in hell Aya would be up for spending what I've started thinking of as 'quality naked time' with _anyone_, let alone me. It therefore never occurred to me that there might be other complications.

My past comes back to haunt me with the entirely unanticipated dilemma that my tattoo apparently gets me banned from most respectable hot spring establishments. Any place that might cultivate a 'family atmosphere' has a big sign at the front desk, warning me that I'm not welcome. That someone who looks like me might get mistaken for Yakuza seems almost laughable.

Or maybe it's just the fact that I'm probably more dangerous than your average Yakuza. That in my case the discrimination's almost legit. Irony. Or…something.

I have to say, I'm pretty used to _feeling _like an infiltrator who doesn't belong. Trying to maintain a double life does that, not even getting into the whole mess of just what I _do_ in the less conventional half of my existence. But I'm not used to the perceived alienation actually being a reality. It's a bit of a shock, and definitely puts a downer on the happiness I was feeling over Aya's capitulation.

When we finally lower our standards and stop trying to pick a resort out of the guidebook, we finally settle on a ryokan a little off the beaten path. It's a bit seedier than the other places we've been staying, but on the upside a lot quieter too. Definitely no screaming kids here.

It's already late by the time we settle in. I immediately roll out my futon thinking we might want to call it an early night. Aya drove all day (if there was ever any doubt in the sincerity of my proclaimed affection for Aya, one need only observe the fact that I let him drive my car,) and although I'm feeling marginally better, my hangover still has a few tendrils embedded into my skull. Another night's sleep ought to fix that. I sit down on the thin bedding and scope out our room. It's…well, I guess 'quaint' might be an appropriate word choice.

Aya ignores his futon in favor of taking advantage of the complimentary tea that's been left out. He sits on the floor and quietly stares at his cup for a while before taking a tentative sip.

"It's still daylight," he observes, sparing the futon a glance, but not looking at me.

"It was a long drive," I shrug.

"Hm," he non-answers.

I watch him, as there's really nothing else in the room worth looking at. Well, that's a good excuse anyway. I'd be watching him regardless.

He becomes very focused on his tea and empties the cup at a record pace. When his hands no longer have anything to occupy themselves with he gets back on his feet and retrieves a yukata from the closet. He stands, it draped over one arm, and finally returns my eye contact.

I stare back, more obviously than before.

"Do you mind?" he asks, shifting slightly.

Do I mind what? That you're holding a yukata?

His stare turns peeved.

Oh. He wants to change.

Without me watching.

Figures.

I drop backwards onto the futon and dramatically drape an arm over my eyes. "Your dignity remains unsullied," I announce with deliberate drama.

The room is silent for a long spell. I suspect he's checking to make sure I really can't see him.

Sheesh, it's not like I haven't seen him _before_. We've lived in close quarters for a very long time now. I've cut his clothes off to dig bullets out of him. What's the big freaking deal?

_The deal is that you said things that fucked everything up. You're lucky he's even willing to be alone in a room with you._

I can feel my lips shift against my skin as I frown into the crook of my arm. The sound of shifting cloth indicates that Aya's gotten over his fear of changing.

"But for the record, I'd _like_ to watch," I add.

What the hell, I've already breached the danger threshold, might as well be honest.

The rustling clothes noises suddenly pick up a more hurried pace. There's then another stretch of silence and Aya coughs, which I take to imply that he's done and I can abandon my ridiculous stance for preserving his modesty. I open my eyes and partially sit up.

Aya's standing near the door, attired in the hotel issued blue and white yukata. His chest shielded by defensively crossed arms.

He looks…awesome.

Okay, it's already clear that my opinion is biased. I think that Aya looks awesome about 80% of the time. If I didn't, I wouldn't be plagued by this whole inconvenient staring problem. And for the record, that 20% where I don't think he looks awesome, it's only because his features are usually unflatteringly marred by some expression stating that he wants to kick my ass. Which might _still_ be awesome, were my interpretation to take a kinkier slant, but, alas, I know Aya too well to make such liberal assumptions.

Anyway, as I was saying though, standing there (grumpily) yukata-clad, Aya seems to look extra awesome. Maybe the indigo just compliments his coloring.

…Or maybe it's the underlying knowledge that yukatas are easy access, and if he's bound for the onsen then it's a good guess that he isn't wearing anything underneath it….

…Jesus Christ, I'll be lucky to last an hour here before he kills me.

"I'm going to see the onsen," he declares predictably.

…Or maybe not so predictably, as it's an obvious assumption that that's where he would be going. That he bothered to voice his destination might almost be interpreted as an invitation to join him.

Phsaw, yeah right.

I nod to acknowledge that I heard him, but remain in place. Truth be told, the second it became clear that Aya intended to leave the room I abandoned my tentative plan for an early turn-in. I don't want to give that away though. I'll give him a ten- to- fifteen minute start to try and minimize coming off like some kind of stalker.

As if he can't see through me….

He hovers for a moment, watching me with a completely unreadable expression on his face before giving me a hurried nod and silently slipping out of the room.

Huh. This is all…very weird. I'm surprised that Aya was apparently paying close enough attention to even remember that I wanted to come here. In all fairness that particular bit of information was disclosed immediately after I first hijacked him. It was buried in quite a bit of nervous rambling and he had every right to have been too alarmed-and-or-mad to have actually been listening to me. But I guess he was anyway.

What's more surprising is that, possessing the knowledge that I wanted to come here, Aya actually took the initiative to _come_ _here_. Honestly, if you'd have asked me to guess, I would have predicted that he would have avoided Kyushu at all costs, and found some place that he knew I would have hated, and dragged me there just for the hell of it. I don't think that would have surprised anybody.

That he apparently trusts me enough to hang around an onsen together is almost too unfathomable to even contemplate. I've given him every reason to want to avoid a situation like this. I can't think of any rationale at all for him being okay with this…other than that he's probably testing me.

In which case I'm probably going to fail.

On an epically tragic, fiery crash kind of level.

Might as well get it over with. I push myself up with a sigh and retrieve a matching yukata from the closet.

* * *

It's not difficult at all to find Aya.

For one, there's only one other person in the ryokan's main onsen. The first person I see is a surly looking blond man sipping sake from a rather liberal sized bottle resting on an overturned bucket. He's sprawled out, taking up at least two people's worth of space, and doesn't look pleased at all to be having his solitude further invaded.

Aya is on the dead opposite end of the pool from the man, compactly wedged into a little inlet. He's reclining against a rock, eyes closed, head partially shielded by a small towel he's draped over it; the quintessential portrait of relaxation. And therefore probably the most un-Aya-like I've ever seen him looking. Which is a stupid thing to say, since _Aya_ is who he is. I'm not really sure how it's possible for him to be _un-Aya-like_, or just _who_ he would look like when he's not looking like himself.

I note with a guilty shred of disappointment that the mineral content of the water is too high for me to get a view of anything below the surface.

That's probably in my health's best interest.

I just stand there for a while, taking in the opportunity to watch him without being noticed.

Well, without being noticed by _Aya_. Sake-boy does seem to notice and gives me a particularly disapproving scowl before refilling his cup for the third time in so many minutes. I take that as my cue to get in.

Aya lazily opens his eyes as the water is disturbed and watches me with an unconcerned expression as I sit down several meters away from him. I hope he appreciates how much space I'm giving him. I've only just gotten here and I can already feel the strain on my willpower.

He's _right there_. Naked. From what I can tell pretty damn _unguarded_. Practically flaunting his faith that I'm not going to do anything inappropriate.

Is he stupid? _I_ don't even trust myself not to do something inappropriate.

I eye the blond man's bottle of sake. I could probably use some of that right now.

No. Baaaaad idea.

I catch Aya following the line of my vision to the sake and quickly turn away.

"The water's nice," I announce, for lack of anything more inspired to discuss. Aya nods in agreement, but doesn't answer.

I look around in an attempt to avoid staring at Aya. For all that I was unimpressed by our room, the onsen's not half bad. The water is a nice chalky turquoise and isn't uncomfortably hot. In fact it makes the air, which I had found oppressively humid before getting into the pool, almost feel pleasantly cool in comparison. We're surrounded by stone, and green, and the cicadas are almost deafening. It's all very picturesque and resort-like. I'd be digging it in a big way if my nerves weren't strung tighter than piano wire by Aya's proximity.

I watch a dragonfly dip into the water and then fly past Aya's head.

I don't _mean_ to look at Aya.

Aya, who I'd assumed in the return to silence would have gone back to snoozing or meditating or doing whatever it was he'd been doing when I intruded.

Aya's eyes have not slipped closed again like I'd expected.

No.

They are in fact trained on _me_.

What….

His face isn't giving anything away. He's just blankly _watching_ me.

And now that I've caught on, he _doesn't stop_.

So I stare back.

The water temperature suddenly feels a little warmer than it did a moment ago.

"I haven't been to one of these things in a long time," I catch myself saying, as per usual, trying to counter awkwardness with utterly meaningless talk. "We could do this any time, you know. Back in Tokyo. We should take Ken and Omi."

Aya nods. Shrugs. Stares.

My eyes nervously dart back to the coveted sake bottle. Its owner is staring at us almost as much as we're staring at each other. His gaze narrows as he catches my glance in his direction. Apparently out of nowhere he produces a set of headphones and a financial magazine and makes a show of blocking out our existence.

"The ones near Tokyo will be more crowded," Aya finally comments.

Blondie has cranked his music up so loud it's spilling out of his earphones. It sounds like…Italian…rap?

Huh. That's a new one for me.

"And yet, probably quieter," I say, rolling my eyes at our anti-social companion.

Aya cracks a smile and then abruptly looks away for a moment. When he looks back his expression has returned to enigmatic.

He's not just staring at my face now though. His eyes are wandering….

That cannot possibly mean what I want to interpret that meaning.

…Can it?

Nah.

I shift somewhat uncomfortably. I'm no stranger to being watched. It's a frequent game I play with random people at the bars I go to. But Aya is not someone random, and his stare is about three hundred times more intense than your average barfly's. What's more, past experience reminds me that Aya usually reserves such acute attention for people he wants to _kill_. Fortunately I can say with (more or less) confidence that's not on his current itinerary. But it does lend a creepy vibe to the whole scenario.

I splash him, because so long as he's looking at me weird like that I might as well give him a _reason_ to.

He looks surprised for a moment, and then turns slowly to gauge the reaction of the man sitting across the spring.

Watery blue eyes are angrily peering over the edge of a now water-stained magazine. He mouths something at us but I can't make out what he's saying. I'm not sure it was in Japanese.

Aya discretely closes a little of the gap I'd left between us. "You're disturbing the other patron," he states flatly.

I almost fail to answer him I'm so taken aback by the encroachment. Does he realize just what an effort I made to give him space there? Does he have any clue _at all _how much he's affecting me?

I give him a careful scrutinizing glance.

He can't _not_ know. He's not stupid. Or oblivious.

…He did that on purpose.

Well, _damn_.

"That's certainly…an injustice…I'll lose sleep over…." The sarcasm of my reply loses all of its bite as I'm far too distracted by Aya now to spare our voyeur a second thought.

"I don't believe you're in the habit of losing sleep over anything," Aya challenges smugly.

In another place and time, that sentence might have cut deep.

In _this_ circumstance…

…I think that was Aya's version of…_flirting_.

Oh.

My.

God.

I lean back a little, as if in the added distance I might gain some new perspective I was failing to see of him. Aya's gaze follows the arc of my movement.

"Oh," I grin lazily at him, "there are _lots_ of things that outrank sleep in _my_ book."

He raises an eyebrow but doesn't take the bait.

I pretend not to care and indifferently glance up at the sky. It's rapidly darkening. When I look down again Aya is trailing his fingers in the water. The action might appear casual to an onlooker, but I know for Aya, it's downright fidgety.

"I…think I might enjoy this more if we came back later," he finally declares quietly, for once not looking at me.

"Yeah?" I say, feeling my hopes rising dangerously. _That could mean lots of things, _I remind myself. _He really might be tired. Maybe the other guy here actually bothers him….maybe I bother him. Maybe it finally dawned on him that lounging around in front of me in his birthday suit was only asking for trouble of the very most painfully awkward kind. _"It was your idea to come here right away, you know."

He waits for our eyes to meet again before replying. "I changed my mind."

Maybe I'm just reading too much into things, but I get the impression that he's not talking about the onsen.

"Oh?" I say, giving him what I hope he can interpret as a meaningful look.

He nods and I can't really tell what he's agreeing with.

'Tired?" I ask, trying to think of what other motivations he might have for wanting to leave, which don't cater to the self-indulgent fantasy scenario that I'm trying really hard to ignore.

"Not at all," he says tonelessly. "Are you?"

I shake my head. "Feeling better."

"Good." He says.

I'm still searching for another question to ask him when my train of thought is brought to a screeching derailment by the sensation of something touching my leg. For a moment there I catch myself wondering if one of the lizards I'd seen basking around the edge of the pool fell in. Or maybe someone dropped a really big fish into the onsen as a joke. Stupid thoughts, I know, but it's somewhat startling to find unseen things brushing against your thigh in what ought to be a (not quite) classy spa. I am still caught up in hoping that I'm not sitting in a surprise cesspool of eels when common sense kicks in and I realize that what I'm feeling isn't a slimy underwater creature. No, not at all. What I'm feeling is a hand on my leg.

I do a double take to make sure that blondie is still sitting out of touching range. He is not only far away but both of his hands are quite visibly clenching his ruined magazine. I'm pretty sure that isn't _my_ hand, which only leaves…holy shit.

My mouth may or may not have just dropped open in shock right there. I'd like to think I kept myself a little more composed than that, but it'd be a generous assumption.

I turn to look at Aya and he is unsurprisingly staring right back. I remain still for a few moments before slowly placing my hand over the one touching me, which I can only conclude belongs to him. It doesn't draw away.

The water now seems uncomfortably hot. It's making me a little dizzy as I silently return Aya's gaze. Don't these places make people faint sometimes? Aya was smart to put the towel on his head. It's supposed to help.

But then, Aya _is_ smart. Aya's really smart, definitely smarter than me. What does he think he's doing?!

"You don't by any chance have an identical twin do you?" I only half joke. "With a completely different personality? Who you might have switched places with when you disappeared yesterday?"

Aya _winces_.

I guess I shouldn't be surprised that that was completely and utterly the wrong thing to say.

The pressure on my leg suddenly turns mildly sharp. It only lasts a second though.

"No," he says through clenched teeth. "No…identical…siblings."

That answer was loaded. I blink as my mind processes the implications. I look at him blankly, hoping he'll elaborate but not expecting it in the least. I sure don't deserve elaboration after a tact faux pas like that one.

Something cracks in the newly hardened edge of his expression. He suddenly looks worn down, like he was the one recovering from a hangover, not me.

"Just a sister," he mumbles under his breath. "Who you're not allowed to date. Ever."

For maybe a full minute I'm at a loss for words. I just said something totally insensitive and idiotic to him. And he rewarded me by tossing me another scrap of his past. Only replace 'scrap' with 'big essential keystone," because I get the feeling that he just dropped some major insight.

…He still hasn't taken his hand away. I slide my fingers between his so that they're intertwined. _And he lets me_. Holy shit. Did I say that already? We're steadily careening farther away from anything you could brush off as 'amiable coworker fraternization.'

"I'm sure she's lovely," I say seriously, "but she's not the Fujimiya I'm interested in,"

"I know," he says, staring at the water.

"…And?" I press.

He opens his mouth but nothing comes out and he shuts it again. I feel him fidget as his eyes land on me, dart to the voyeur, stare off at nothing in particular, fall on me again. He sighs heavily. "The other Fujimiya might be a little more flexible," he all but mumbles.

I can feel a grin breaking out across my face like a cloud sliding off the sun.

"Flexibility is a quality I have a high appreciation for," I declare with a nudge.

Aya scowls. His eyes resettle on the sake connoisseur. I suddenly notice that the intrusive music has lost its volume. The magazine is being held in an unconvincingly shield-like stance.

"Did you want to go and…um, _talk_? Back in the room?" My voice is unnaturally loud. I'm a little too aware of the way the blood seems to be hammering through my veins. I have to talk over the internal noise.

Aya nods again, squeezes my fingers before slipping his hand away, and is out of the water even quicker than I am. I can't be bothered to find my towel, let alone dry off. The thin fabric of the yukata plasters against my skin as I throw it on still sopping wet. Aya does the same.


	26. How can I show you

"How can I show you, I'm glad I got to know you"

**-Ken-**

It probably won't come as much of a surprise to learn that the day I killed Kase has always been very clearly and accessibly burned into my memory. It takes very little to vividly trigger a play-by-play recap. So I guess it also won't come as so big of a surprise to hear that every single word I uttered then is equally accessible. I won't ever forget.

When my illusion of our friendship was finally irreparably shattered, when I finally came to terms that the trust I'd so stubbornly clung to was _gone_, when in a fit of steely determination my claws finally connected fatally with his chest, I told him this: I said, _I'm already in Hell_.

Yeah, I know that probably seems a little melodramatic. I guess you would have needed to be there.

But, the thing is, I _believed_ it.

Well, given, I say very little that I don't believe. I hate lies, liars, and everything in between. Trust is essential to me, and I do my best to project that.

But regardless, I have to admit that there was an extra degree of conviction to that particular declaration. A world where your oldest and closet friend wants to see you dead could be little _but_ Hell. Nowhere else would it make sense that someone who literally tears the living essence out of others could flatter themselves the 'good guy.' I entered this life through a baptism of fire, not figuratively speaking. There might as well have been a billboard spelling out 'Welcome to Hell,' because my location could not have been more obvious.

Or so I thought.

Apparently things are not quite so straightforward as I'd assumed.

Because I was wrong.

I was very, very wrong.

This is _not_ Hell.

It is, in fact, just about as far from Hell as I could possibly imagine.

Perhaps I had actually been in purgatory. Because now I'm out, and _this_, this feels an awful lot like…well. I won't say it. I don't want to be _that_ cheesy.

But you get the idea.

I'm _happy_.

I didn't think it was actually possible for me to be happy again.

I mean…I guess I've had my moments. I _almost_ remembered what it felt like to be happy when I was with Yuriko. The problem was that it wasn't possible for me to give her a full disclosure. There was no way for me to let her get close enough to build up the trust that's essential for me. Honestly, being with her was almost as stressful as it was a relief.

Which is why it took Yohji so little effort to dissuade me from leaving with her.

Well, that and the fact that she wasn't _Omi_.

…Not that I was conscious of _that_ at the time….

But…wow…Omi.

I'm still having a hard time believing any of this is real.

I mean…what were my _chances_? The odds were definitely stacked against me. The odds would have been against me simply looking for a boyfriend, period, never mind someone specific, someone specific that didn't even seem to fit that orientation. Not that I'd have any interest in a boyfriend, except for Omi. I wasn't especially looking for that type of relationship in anyone, hardly even girls, let alone men. I just wanted to really _trust_ someone again. When I finally found that I guess I got more than I bargained for.

I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think I owe Yohji thanks.

Well, maybe. I'm not sure I'm willing to give him that big of an ego trip.

I wonder what Aya and Yohji are going to think? They'll have to find out right away. Hiding things is just too close to lying for my comfort.

But, I shouldn't care, right? I feel like I'm not supposed to care. I can't help worrying though, I care what people think of me. I care a lot more than I should. Being in J-League, with the public's attention constantly monitoring my every move made me painfully aware of how judgmental people are. A lot of 'celebrities' get used to the spotlight, it stops bothering them. Not me. I never got used to it; the attention only succeeded in making me paranoid. Maybe I just didn't get to stay in the League long enough to adjust. Or maybe it was the scandal; I've been the center of attention in the very worst possible way. I know how brutal it can be to be shunned for something that wasn't your fault.

That's why I like kids so much. They don't have enough experience to hold a lot of strong opinions. They're still capable of unconditional love.

I think I'm worrying for nothing though. I can't really picture Yohji having a problem with it. In fact I bet he'll approve. A teammate is better than some innocent corruptible girl, right? Besides, it's less competition for him. He can lay claim to twice as many of those raving banshees in the shop. Not that I was ever stopping him before.

Yeah, I'll actually be really surprised if Yohji is bothered. He'll probably make fun of me anyway though, just on principle. I can deal with that.

Aya is harder to guess though. He gives the impression of holding really strong opinions on things, but he rarely shares what those opinions actually are. Unless the thing in question is somehow related to the name 'Takatori' and then his opinion is pretty strongly voiced. Huh, come to think of it, that exception applies to Omi, doesn't it? That…might complicate things.

Aya and I didn't really hit it off so well in the beginning, either. I wonder, would it really be that easy to shift the balance back to animosity?

Maybe.

I like to think not.

But…I really don't know.

I somehow managed to throw a wrench into my good mood. I think my brain is having trouble processing the concept of _'happy.'_

All I need to do is go back to thinking about Omi to fix that.

I'm walking around the grocery store right now, with what I'm pretty sure must be a completely ridiculous grin spread across my face. Omi promised to make me dinner if I picked up the supplies, you see. Isn't he _great_? I'm so…_lucky_.

Oh my god, I'm starting to sound like one of the shop girls.

I stop, and self-consciously look down at the shopping basket which is feeling a lot heavier than it ought to, only to take in the fact that it's filled with just about every miscellaneous product that I have ever seen Omi express even a hint of interest in….except for the things he specifically requested for dinner. Dang.

Apparently, I'm also starting to _act_ like one of the shop girls.

I sheepishly reshelf a box of instant noodles, which I can't for the life of me remember what about had reminded me of Omi (but I know it somehow did.) He probably doesn't actually want eleven cans of that specific brand of oolong tea I noticed him drinking last week, either. Wow. Did I really grab all this…?

Uh huh.

The chocolate cookies can stay though, I happen to _know_ that they're one of his favorites….

I catch myself just vacantly staring at a poster advertising some local specialty. I'm totally spacing out.

We went to the beach this morning, speaking of life suddenly being awesome. It was more fun than I remember. I don't go to the beach a lot. It's not that I don't like to, it's just that when I have free time I usually choose to play soccer. I think I've only gone once since joining Weiβ. All four of us went, it was Omi's idea, some sort of 'team bonding' pitch.

It kind of sucked. Yohji and Aya didn't really get the concept of 'team' all that well. Yohji wasn't interested in doing anything with us, he just spent all of his time sunbathing and chatting up girls in bikinis. I don't think he ever even got into the water. Lame. And Aya was even worse! Aya wouldn't even take his _shirt_ off. He just sat in the shade the whole time and read. He could have done that at home! What's the point of coming all the way out to the beach if you're only going to do stuff you could have done in your living room? I really don't get them. I suspected that Omi would have been fun…if he hadn't been so strung out unsuccessfully trying to force Aya and Yohji to go swimming with us and play beach games that they clearly had no interest in whatsoever.

I wonder what those two are _up_ to? Probably being mutually boring together, doing something they could have done at home. I still can't comprehend them wanting to take a trip together. It's totally weird. I guess they both figured they could just ignore each other and do their own thing. I so don't get them.

Well, anyway, I do get Omi, and as I suspected he's actually _fun_ to go to the beach with. When I suggested playing volleyball he didn't even hesitate to agree. He played with me for an hour. And then we only stopped because it was hot and the water looked inviting. He raced me into the ocean, and jumped right in even though it was freezing. When I splashed him he splashed me back. We swam and rough housed and acted stupid and he never wasted time trying to look cool in front of the other people there (like some other people I know would have.) We found some big rocks to hide behind and made out for a while. Then we dug a giant hole in the sand for no good reason. I love that I can do things with Omi for no good reason. I haven't been able to feel this much like myself around anyone since….

…Well. Kase.

I still can't even think his name without feeling my stomach drop. Way to knife my good mood again.

I think that deep down I once had the same kind of feelings for Kase that I do for Omi.

Thank God I didn't realize it back then. Thank God _he_ didn't realize it. He would have exploited it. Even if it had completely disgusted him, I bet he would have capitalized on the opportunity anyway. I saw his true colors. He wanted to destroy me. Can you even imagine? Agonizing as all of that was, it could have been so much worse. I'm not sure I could have recovered from that.

He still did plenty of permanent damage though.

A dark, suspicious piece of my mind keeps questioning Omi. I hate myself when I catch that happening.

But…it really does seem…unlikely that he'd return my feelings, doesn't it?

Out of all of us, he was the only one who came even close to having a steady girlfriend. Sure, for a relationship it was pretty fucked up. But still. It was more of an authentic love life than even Yohji had.

He never dropped a hint that he might like boys. Never a hint that he might like _me_.

And…I've seen with my own eyes how manipulative he can be. Omi is a _master_ when it comes to people skills. It's a little bit frightening. I suppose that's what happens when you grow up in an environment like Kritiker.

I can't believe I let my mind wander there. I trust Omi. Completely. We've saved each other's lives. He's my best friend. I love him. I could even say that before, when I thought it was just best-friend-love, and not the real kind that I now know it is.

I guiltily grab another box of the cookies Omi likes and shove them in the basket.

It's not like _I_ was going around projecting that I liked him either. At least, I don't think I was. It kind of caught me off guard. Unless…crap. Was it really obvious to everyone, except for me? You hear about that happening all the time. I've been told that I can be kinda oblivious (well, _Yohji's_ told me that I can be kind of oblivious. I'm never quite sure when to take him seriously or not….) Maybe everyone's known for months, and I was the last person to figure it out. Maybe _that's_ actually the reason Aya and Yohji high-tailed it out of here. I could have been totally nauseating them. Maybe I've just been walking around with the words I HAVE A CRUSH ON OMI practically blazing across my forehead, and they just couldn't stand being around me anymore…

Um, remember when I said I can get paranoid? Case in point.

I'm being stupid. Aya and Yohji called. They said they were having issues. You don't have to twist my arm to get me to believe _that_. Those two have heaps of issues. I couldn't even start to guess at which ones they decided they need to work on. The world doesn't revolve around you, Hidaka.

Hm, maybe I should pick up a bottle of wine to go with dinner. Would Omi like that? It might be kind of romantic. Or would it be sketchy? Maybe he'd think I was trying to get him drunk. I don't want him to think I was trying to take advantage of him. Would that even make sense? We're already into each other. I have no reason to take advantage of him. I get to do stuff whether we're drunk or not. Heh.

I totally space out again as my mind wanders to what I got to do with him this morning….

Snap out of it man, I probably look seriously creepy just standing in the middle of a grocery store grinning like some sort of lobotomized freak.

I put some of the oolong tea back in my basket. Better to play it safe and save the wine till after we've been together a few more days.

Wow, how obvious is it that it's been a while since I've seriously dated anyone?

I've probably only had a handful of dates since I got kicked out of J-League. And none of them ever went anywhere, I felt too detached, having to hide the whole assassin thing. And even before that…I guess I didn't really get the serious dating scene so well back then, either. All of the girls who were interested in me were kind of fangirly. Even worse than the ones who come to the flower shop. I always felt like they cared more that they were dating a pro-athlete than actually wanted to get to know me. I've never had someone like Omi before….

Maybe I'll pick up a movie for us to watch after dinner. A good one. Not an awkward-fest like last time. Or we could actually go to the theater. It'd be a real date! No, renting is better. Then I get Omi all to myself. We wouldn't actually have to _watch_ it….

Oh, even better! We could go back to the beach. I've never been to the beach at night. I bet you can see a million stars there. How romantic would that be? I bet it's totally romantic. It's probably really cold on the beach at night though. Maybe Omi would need me to keep him warm.

Heh. Heheheh.

You know, Omi's probably actually getting annoyed with me by now, because I'm sure I'm taking about three times longer to pick up groceries than any reasonable person would.

I force my attention to refocus enough to complete the shopping list. Plus a few extraneous items. Hey, a gift-wrapped watermelon is totally important. Very essential.

Well, it's not like I can impress him by bringing home _flowers_.

Or could I? No one knows flowers better than Omi. He'd definitely notice which ones were impressive.

No. I am _not_ getting Omi flowers. I can't believe I even thought that.

He really does seem to have a thing for freesia though….

No. No no no no.

I need to get a grip. Omi doesn't actually care if I bring him anything home. What he'd probably like best would be for me to not take 3 hours to pick up a basketful of groceries. I hope I haven't worried him. He's been kind of sensitive lately. I took way too long. Shit he's probably totally worried.

I walk as fast as I can, given the overstuffed, gratuitously heavy nature of my shopping bag.

When I finally get to the door I have to stop to catch my breath and re-compose myself. I don't want to look pathetic when he sees me. I'm also nervous to see him again. I feel bad for accidently taking so long.

When I open the door, it's worse than I feared.

Omi looks….

…Well…not happy to see me.

Not worried. Not even mad.

I would have rather found him mad. I get mad a lot. It passes.

He just looks _unhappy_. And when his eyes lock on me it changes. He goes sort of blank. Like he's shutting off his emotions.

It makes me feel _horrible_.

I couldn't possibly have done this much damage just by making him wait for dinner. Right? He'd been seeming so much better. Genuinely better. I thought he was as happy as I was. He'd been acting happy again.

Was I just seeing what I wanted to see?

"What?" I say, waiting for him to announce that someone died. Or something worse.

"Manx called," he answers in a robotic voice. "We have a mission. I've already packed."

I accidently drop the groceries.


	27. Can you tell the difference?

"Can you tell the difference, or is it the same?"

**-Aya-**

I dream that I'm being strangled by a giant mutant cephalopod.

When I wake up not a whole lot has changed.

I experience a brief moment of déjà vu, at first not fully remembering the events that led up to finding myself naked in bed with Yohji's elbow thoroughly embedded into my ribcage. He's somehow managed to completely entwine himself around me in the very most predictably invasive way possible.

I suppose to be fair this futon wasn't designed to accommodate two grown adults. Space is rather lacking.

I lie still and wait for the panic and/or regret to settle in.

It seems to be taking it's time.

I feel surprisingly calm and…not all that different.

Shouldn't I feel…different?

I feel kind of like I've just been to the gym. Except I'm sore in all the wrong places. Nothing major though.

No perception shattering epiphanies. No divine enlightenment.

…No regret either.

I can feel Yohji starting to wake. My space deficiency amplifies.

"Mornin' Ayan," he drawls, placing an unusual amount of emphasis on my name. His face is scratchy against my shoulder. His hand is wandering beneath the blanket. An invisible knot deep within my abdomen tightens.

A familiar nagging voice in the back of my head is urging me to push him off. Extract myself from his banyan stranglehold before I get any more inescapably sucked in. It's not too late to back out…although the window is rapidly sliding shut.

I ignore it.

What have I gotten myself into? For all of the thought I recently put into it, I'm still not so sure I actually thought this out very well. Letting myself get involved with Yohji is going to have more repercussions than simply sleeping with somebody. It occurred to me to worry about the possible effect on our mission performance. This could distract us. Cloud our judgment. Obvious things. But there's even _more_ than just that! Yohji is going to be clingy.

Have I ever seen him act clingy with anyone else? No. In fact he's usually quite the opposite, I've always seen him as one of those 'there's enough of me to go around for everyone, take a ticket and hop in line' kind of people. A clingy Yohji shouldn't even make sense.

But it's written just in the way he's possessively clamped around me while sleeping. In the unfathomable amount of hesitation in his actions last night. In the way he's still hanging on to his partner and that for some reason he seems to want me to know about her. I could keep going. That I can anticipate Yohji to adhere himself to me like ivy is scrawled quite clearly across nearly every facet of him. Cautionary graffiti that I used to not notice because I let myself be blinded by his distracting presentation. I noticed way too late.

He's already in this way deeper than I am. And I can feel him trying to drag me down to the bottom of the ocean. I'm in danger of losing my ability to breathe.

I think all this, and yet I still don't shove him off.

I expect that most people, finding themselves where I am now, would probably start worrying about when Yohji's attention span will run out and they'll find themselves being cheated on. I don't even spare that concept a second thought, because it's ridiculous. I don't have to worry about Yohji cheating on me. Were I to care, of course. I haven't yet allowed myself to decide if I'm even willing to let things get so serious that exclusivity is an issue. Except I know that in Yohji's mind, that has already been settled. He will be exclusive, whether I care or not. And as I'm not exactly in the habit of running around sleeping with people, the exclusivity will be mutual, whether I make the effort or not. And entirely by his call, I'll find myself in a serious relationship, whether I'm ready or not.

Normal people probably don't find that terrifying.

No, I don't need to waste my time worrying that Yohji might cheat on me. What I actually need to worry about is that I see the danger of finding myself trapped on a pedestal next to a dead girl. It's somehow a whole lot scarier.

"Good morning," I finally acknowledge Yohji's greeting, not without some degree of awkwardness. It feels strange to say those words while still in bed, and not across the kitchen table or in the flower shop.

"Sleep well?" he asks, grinning lopsidedly as he traces invisible circles on my chest with his finger. If he's drawing something, I can't tell what it is. I feel like it ought to be annoying me, but it actually feels kind of nice. Not that I'd reward him with an admittance of that.

"Not really," I answer honestly.

His face falters slightly. I guess he's not used to anything less than glowing reviews from his bedmates.

I cut that train of thought off before it can get any farther.

"We need a bigger bed," I explain, and then stop, realizing that that sounded like some sort of invitation to move in together or something.

I'm going to need to learn to choose my words a little more carefully from now on.

"Oh," he says, lighting back up again, "that's not a problem. When we get back. I have an _excellent_ bed."

"I assumed," I answer briefly.

My lack of chattiness doesn't seem to bother him though, he seems content at the fact that I haven't insisted on getting up yet, which I must admit goes against my nature. Unlike Yohji, I consider myself a morning person. Lying in bed after waking usually makes me feel twitchy and restless. To add the constricting hindrance of another person doing a convincing imitation of a starfish ought to be enough to drive me clawing out of the sheets. I'm really not sure what's still keeping me from moving….

His hand is getting a bit more adventurous in its wandering and I almost jump as I suddenly feel something wet on my ear.

He really doesn't waste any time at all does he?

I shut my eyes and take in the somewhat weird sensation. I don't like it. I wait for my reflexes to kick in enough to make him stop. I change my mind before they do.

"You really don't ever take that off, do you?" he suddenly asks.

I don't have to look to know that he's staring at Aya's earring.

"No." I say, not offering an explanation. "Never."

I turn to meet his eyes and he looks thoughtful but doesn't say anything. He takes advantage of the accessibility of my mouth to lean in and kiss me. The voice telling me not to allow all these things has now been almost completely stifled. I don't even hesitate to open my mouth and kiss him back.

Another thing I've changed my mind about is the quality of Yohji's kissing. Apparently whether I'm expecting it or not really does make a substantial difference in the experience. It feels surprising good when he's not blitz attacking me with his tongue.

Actually, _all_ of Yohji feels surprisingly good. It shouldn't be possible for all of his gangly angularity. Is it just that I'm not used to being close to people? Does _everyone_ actually feel this good?

It would sure explain Yohji's relentless need to go out at night.

I can't really picture myself enjoying such close contact with someone random. The thought is still rather repellent, in fact.

Speaking of which, does Yohji always look this happy after sleeping with someone?

I try to remember having seen him like this before. I've frequently run into him crawling back late at night and early in the mornings. My mental inventory draws a total blank. At the most he usually looks smug. Right now he looks more…hm, I guess content. I've never seen him looking this content.

I don't let myself dwell on the implications.

"You need to get off me," I announce. Rather nicely, if you ask me. My first instinct was to remove him by force.

"That'd be a much more tempting proposition if you rearranged your wording," he grins, predictably failing to move. In fact I think he actually manages to somehow plaster himself closer. Which has to be some sort of physics defying feat, considering.

I actually have to think about that for a moment.

Hey, my mind just doesn't work like Yohji's. Not in _that_ department, anyway.

I then have to think about it _another_ minute.

Never thought I'd see a day when Yohji's obnoxious comments like that were anything other than…well, _obnoxious_. I'm tempted, in spite of myself. But no. I shouldn't encourage him. Not when I still feel so conflicted.

"I want to take a shower," I say, making a point of ignoring his innuendo.

"Not mutually exclusive," his grin widens.

…He's kidding, right?

"I'm just going to assume you're joking." I say, mildly appalled.

"Hell no."

"…Our room doesn't have a private bathroom," I remind him.

"Sure doesn't," he shrugs.

"…You want to fuck me in a public shower," I affirm. With Yohji there's really no point in beating around the bush.

"Well, you could always do me instead," he announces cheerfully. "I'm open to suggestions."

"No."

"Aw," he responds in a voice laced with painfully fake disappointment, "you don't want to do me? I was looking forward to trying new things…."

"That's not what I said." I glare at him. If only to distract him from noticing the way I'm pretty sure I'm turning slightly red right now. My mind is finding his suggestion a lot more interesting than I want it to.

What the hell is wrong with me?

The way he's rubbing against me is _really_ not helping my train of thought.

Nor is the fact that he just said 'new things.' I had rather assumed that when he outed his interest in me it meant he already had experience with men. I wouldn't have expected his repertoire to have room for any more firsts. Huh.

"Have you ever heard the term 'pressing your luck'?" I add.

"It's an interesting concept," he says, not without a hint of smugness in his voice. Our close proximity makes it pretty much impossible for any amount of verbal disapproval to hide what my body thinks of his suggestion. This is somewhat distressing.

"I'm taking a shower," I say, finally mustering the willpower to disentangle myself. "_Alone_."

Yohji just lays there, completely unruffled, in spite of the fact that I just threw most of the blanket off of him in my attempt to escape. He's totally shameless. And still looks rather self-satisfied, for that matter.

That may be due to the way I'm struggling to rip my eyes off of him.

It's weird that I'm allowed to look.

No, I was always allowed to look. The way he dressed was practically _begging_ for me (make that anyone,) to look. It's weird that I can allow myself to. It's weird that I _want_ to.

He's definitely not harsh on the eyes. I can finally admit that.

"Rain check, then," he says with a wink.

"We'll see," I mumble, hastily throwing on a yukata. I don't know whose it is. They got kind of mixed up last night in the rush to….

I can feel my cheeks heating up again.

I grab a towel and practically bolt out of the room.

I hope that no one else comes along to use the facilities. I really don't feel up to dealing with being interrupted. I briefly wish that this were a regular hotel instead of a ryokan. I then think about what would almost be undoubtedly happening right now if the bathroom had the ability to lock.

Maybe this is better after all.

I just sit down on the bathroom stool for a moment and run my hands through my hair.

Things are going to be _different_.

I can't tell yet whether it'll be better…or just a mess.

There are a lot of ways this could turn into a mess. A really bad one. Common sense would have dictated I avoid this entirely. It would have been the logical choice…right?

Why didn't I listen to that?

Because I'm selfish.

Last night was the best I've felt since before the accident. Maybe even longer than that.

I feel like a traitor for even considering that _anything_ post accident could ever compare to my idyllic notion of before. They're two separate worlds. One was good. One isn't. It was black and white.

Key word; _was_.

Last night was _good_. All of it. Even the awkward weird bits were pretty good. I was totally in the moment. I didn't feel alone.

It was a different sort of 'not alone' than before. It was....

…I don't know how to explain it.

But I don't think I can give it up. Not after seeing how much better I can feel.

God, I'm selfish. I don't deserve to feel better. I _kill_ people. I deserve to feel worse. I have no right to care about anything except for Aya-chan.

Yohji kills people too though. I don't think that _he_ deserves to feel worse.

If I walked away from this he would.

I'm still having a hard time comprehending that. I really don't see what he sees in me. I always imagined that if Yohji ever settled on just one person it would be…oh, I don't know. Someone more like Manx. Some lady who was smart and sophisticated and always dressed sharply. Someone who would look in place on his arm at a classy soiree.

I sure wouldn't. I look in place lurking in alleyways.

I guess Yohji's good at lurking too.

He should have found someone who complimented the bright side of his personality. I can't be healthy for him. Maybe his interest in me is just his self-destructive streak surfacing. He's got a big one.

I turn on just the cold water and hose myself off. It's fairly effective at interrupting my negative thought spiral. I close my eyes and clear my head further by just focusing on the smell of soap and damp cypress.

I already made up my mind. I'm not going to talk myself out of this. Yohji deserves the chance, even if I don't. Even if it's not actually what's good for him. It's what he apparently wants. And I….

…Fuck. I _want_ Yohji.

There. It's officially on the table.

I hurry back to our room and find him sprawled in exactly the same place as I'd left him. In exactly the same state of dress.

"Hey there," he says, grinning lazily at me, just like before.

"Get up," I say, more brusquely than I mean to. I'm stalled, a little distracted. I need to get dressed. I feel weird getting dressed in front of Yohji. I have no right to be shy in front of him _now_.

I try to be nonchalant in discarding my yukata. My movements are stiff and clinical as I pull on my clothes though.

"We don't _have_ to get up," he says, stretching out invitingly. "_You_ didn't have to get up. We could just stay in bed all day. When's the last time you did that?"

I know the last time _he_ did that. About a week and a half ago. He was scheduled to work.

"When I was sick," I say, hanging the yukata back in the closet. "I don't like to stay in bed all day. We need to get breakfast."

"That's what I love about ya Ayan," he says, slowly pulling himself up and reaching for his rumpled pile of clothes, "your incomprehensible practicality."

I just sort of stand there and blink as the meaning of his words slowly sink in.

"Excuse me?" I say, hoping that the note of panic his words inspired isn't detectable in my voice.

"Hm?" he looks up from pulling on a sock. Apparently it's important that his feet regain their modesty before anything else.

"What. Did you just say." I stammer.

"That you're incomprehensibly practical." He pulls on his other sock. "It sort of blows my mind sometimes. That someone can make so much effort to avoid relaxing. Ever. Ya know?" He lets out a short laugh. "No, you wouldn't know would you? It apparently comes naturally."

I ignore his attempt at banter. He's trying to distract me. "That's not all you said."

"Wasn't it?" He's fumbling with his pants now, not looking at me. "I don't know, I say lots of things. I'm always talking."

Well, _that's_ true.

"What did you hear?" he continues, face totally cool as he looks at me.

"…"

I can't repeat it. My mouth won't form the words. I stare at him uncomfortably.

Maybe I _did_ imagine it.

"Nothing," I say, shoving my hands in my pockets. "Let's get breakfast."

"Sounds good," he agrees. His voice is cheerful but I can't read his face.

* * *

Yohji is even chattier than usual while we eat. I have a hard time following what he's saying. I'm trying to listen, but my mind is skipping all over the place. It's a scattered mess.

"…I think this place uses more paste in their miso," he's saying, poking around in his bowl with the spoon, "it tastes stronger than the stuff I had yesterday. Less seaweed though. Not sure the overall effect is better or not."

He's talking about the food? Oh my god. Last night I completely gave myself to him, this morning he may or may not have accidently announced that he loved me…and now he's trying to have a conversation about soup.

A perfect streak of fucked-up-ness continues unbroken.

I frown into my tea.

"Something wrong?" he asks, eyeing me inquisitively. "Would you prefer a Western breakfast? We could go somewhere else. "

"No," I say. "This is fine."

He raises an eyebrow but doesn't press me.

For about five minutes.

"We could stop at a convenience store and get some cereal," he persists. "Or yogurt. You like yogurt, right? It's healthy and all that."

"That's Ken," I correct. "Ken eats yogurt because it's healthy. I just eat whatever is around. Ken buys a lot of yogurt."

"Oh," he says blankly. "I thought you really liked it."

"I guess I like it," I say with a shrug. "I don't not like it. Food is food. As long as I'm not hungry I don't really care so much."

"Huh," he says, and I can practically see him mentally filing away a note on that. "You're an easy date," he breaks into a smile and slides a few inches closer to me.

"Don't say that so loud!" I react in panic.

His face drops into an instant tableau of hurt. "What?" he says, totally unappreciative of the fact that I restrained myself from moving to reestablish the distance between us, "Date? That's just a saying. It doesn't even mean anything. It's not like I said that you're my—"

"_Shut up_," I hiss.

"Oh don't worry," he sulks, staring into his half eaten soup. "I won't say that. I wouldn't even know if it were true."

I have nothing to say to that. I stab at my fish despondently.

"So…are you?" He suddenly asks, looking up at me. I catch a flash of vulnerability in his eyes.

He was so cocky this morning. How is it possible to be more confident naked, than fully clothed and eating breakfast?

Typical Yohji.

"I'm not having this conversation here." It'll be a miracle if he actually heard that. I could barely hear myself the mumbling was so bad.

"No one's paying attention to us," he won't let it drop. "No one here knows us. No one cares what we're saying."

Doesn't he realize that he's just encouraging me to give him the answer he doesn't want to hear? He should know better than to back me into a corner.

I look at him, expectantly looking back at me.

I can't bring myself to shoot him down any more than I can say what he's fishing for.

I glance around the room. It's pretty late for breakfast; there's hardly anyone else here. And Yohji's right, the few people present are too absorbed in their own business to spare us even a second glance.

My mind was already pretty much made up. Why can't I say it?

Allowing something to physically happen is a lot easier than verbally defining it.

"I'm still processing this," I stall.

"Okay," he says in a voice that doesn't sound very okay at all.

I watch him go back to analyzing his soup.

"It's a lot to process," I add, feeling guilty. It annoys me that he's made me feel guilty. I have nothing to feel guilty about here. I've given him a lot already. It's unprecedented. The fact that I'm still here eating breakfast with him after what happened last night should already give him enough of an answer.

"You're pushy and move fast," I say moodily. As far as I'm concerned it's just stating the obvious.

I expect him to either ignore me or throw back a defensive insult. He reacts more calmly than I anticipate.

"No," he says seriously, "I've just learned that I can't afford to take things for granted. You shouldn't stall if you know what you want. You don't know how much time you have."

I wasn't prepared for such a weighty retort. I'm not sure if I'm hit harder by the reaffirmation that he wants me, or the reminder that statistically, we both have pretty short projected life spans. My appetite evaporates.

Yohji's appetite on the other hand, remains unscathed. When I fail to say anything he gestures to my untouched miso and asks if I want it. I shove it towards him.

What he just said only confirms my suspicions that this is headed towards a horrible mess. Why do I find myself staring at him and wishing I hadn't insisted we get out of bed?

"Are you capable of keeping it low key?" I ask with a sigh.

"Low key isn't really my style," he says around a mouthful of soup.

"That's painfully obvious," I mutter.

"You already knew it," he adds, back in annoying mode.

"And you already knew I wouldn't be comfortable publically flaunting a relationship," I retort.

A grin breaks out across his face as I let a word drop I hadn't really meant to say to him.

"So you admit that it's a—"

Shit, how did he do that? He just talked me in a big circle that ended exactly where he wanted it to.

I glare at him, but find myself nodding. "I guess," I say reluctantly. "_For now_. If you can keep it quiet."

"I suppose I can learn to be low key if it gets me such a sexy boyfriend," he announces. Loudly.

I kick him under the table. The word 'boyfriend' makes me wince. It doesn't seem appropriate. Not for people like us. I can't think of a more accurate substitute.

"That's. Not. Low. Key." I all but growl at him.

"Oops," he grins, his cockiness fully reinstated. "I'll have to make that up to you later."

The hinted promise has exactly the impact that he intended it to. I'm suddenly _very_ distracted imagining ways Yohji might compensate for bad behavior. Shit, what's wrong with me? He's being a total ass. And instead of being properly pissed off all I can think about is kissing him again. Among other things.

I see a lot of headaches in my future.

_Among other things._

More subtly, he reaches for my hand under the table and slips his fingers between mine like he did at the onsen.

I don't allow myself to check to see if anyone else noticed.


	28. Bad Dream

"This is feeling like a bad dream"

**-Omi-**

"A snuff film?" Ken whines for about the fifteenth time. "What loser bothers with that nowadays? It's so been done. Like, decades ago. People still watch those? Come on. I can't believe we were interrupted for _this_. I mean, at least when someone's transmogrifying people into monsters, they're being a _creative_ psycho-supervillian…."

I don't even have to glare at him. His eyes go a little wide as he catches his own faux-pas.

"Shit! I'm sorry! I forgot that one was your—"

I cut off his apology with a wave of my hand. "It's okay. I'm over it," I lie. "Just don't talk about it."

Ken doesn't buy that. He opens his mouth, I'm sure to spew an endless stream of nervous apologies. So I do glare at him. Just a little. I don't actually want to. I don't want to do this mission any more than he does. I'm certainly not any happier to get dragged away from the beach. I just want to hurry up and get it over with, and complaining or babbling apologies won't help that happen.

Maybe if we make quick neat work of it, we'll have time to go back to the beach. Or anywhere. Some sort of secondary reprieve to go back to pretending that we're a normal couple getting to know each other in normal ways like normal people.

I go back to drawing spider webs around the corners of Ken's eyes with purple eyeliner.

Yeah, totally normal.

"What the fuck is up with this outfit anyway?" Ken's back to complaining. "Is Manx on crack? Who said we have to dress like this? I hate it. I mean, _hate_ it. You know, I think it was actually preferable when I had to wear that airline stewardess outfit. You hear that? I'd rather put on a skirt and pink bowtie than this stupid thing. I don't think it even qualifies as an 'outfit.' The word 'outfit' implies some sort of coordination. I feel ridiculous."

"Since when do you care about coordinated outfits?" I point out. "You're supposed to be the silent brooding type. You need to get in character."

Ken snorts. "Like you're happy about this either."

"Obviously not," I sigh. "But we have to do it. The target picks up his victims by offering acting roles to teenagers. He goes after the ones that look like they want attention. You have to look…flamboyant…if you want him to notice you."

"Flamboyant," Ken echoes my sigh. "That's one word I never wanted associated with me. This sucks. Where the hell are Aya and Yohji when you need them? _Yohji's_ 'flamboyant.' He should get stuck with this one."

"Yohji's too old," I remind him. "The guy only picks up teenagers. You would have had to do this one even if they'd been here."

"Aya's better at brooding than I am," he persists.

"Aya looks too old too."

"He's only like half a year older than me! That's so not fair." Ken's face is totally exasperated.

"It doesn't matter how old he _actually_ is. He still _looks_ older. Which he is. Even if it is just by a few months. You look more approachable, anyway."

"But—"

_I_ feel pretty exasperated. "Well _I_ look the youngest, so _I_ would be doing this one no matter what," I snap. "If you'd rather I go alone…."

"_No_." Ken's face has gone entirely white. Or maybe it's just all the foundation I made him wear. It's hard to tell.

"_No_," he repeats. For a second he genuinely looks like he might cry or something. He recovers pretty quickly. More or less. "It's just— I'm not— I wasn't ready to have to do a mission so soon after— You know."

I do know. Boy do I ever know.

He leans forward so that his bangs are in his eyes and runs his fingers through his hair. It smudges his eyeliner spider webs. I'm going to have to wipe them off and do them over.

"I don't usually care what happens to me on missions, you know? I'm usually able to focus. But now I'm not just thinking about me, you know? I'm not used to being scared about what could happen if we fuck it up."

"I know." I sit down and lean against him.

"It's easier to focus on the stupid little things that don't actually matter than what might happen on the mission," he mumbles.

"It's okay," I say. "It's not like I'm thrilled about any of it either. These turquoise plaid pants aren't exactly my style."

"Nah," he turns and smiles at me. "You look great. If anyone can pull off turquoise plaid, it's definitely you."

"Shut up," I say, feeling myself blush a little.

"No seriously," he says, "you look good in anything. I mean it."

The blushing has been upgraded from 'a little' to 'beet red.'

"You're just saying that to make up for all the complaining you did about having to wear make-up," I say.

"You can think what you like, it won't make it less true," he says, smiling faintly. His face then goes serious. "Omi? You're not allowed to die, okay? I'm serious."

My throat goes tight hearing him finally voice what both of us have been thinking. "I'd rather it be me, than you," I say. Stupidly. I knew better than to actually say that. Even though its how I feel.

"Yeah, well, if someone _had_ to die, I'd rather it be _me_," Ken retorts, "so I guess we have a problem."

"No one's allowed to die," I say firmly.

"Agreed," says Ken. "No dying."

We look at each other apprehensively for a moment.

"We've done dozens of missions without any problems," Ken adds reassuringly. "We're professionals. It'll be fine."

"Right," I agree. "This guy isn't even very creative, right?"

Ken starts to nod, and then stops to think about it. "Actually…some of the death scenes in his films sounded rather…elaborate." He says quietly.

"Yeah," I can't help morosely confirming that. "The mission outline wasn't…very fun to read, was it?"

Ken just shakes his head. He looks a little green, and this time I know it isn't the make-up.

* * *

So I'm standing on the corner of Takeshita St, wearing an orange top hat and holding a guitar. I've never played a guitar in my life. If the target asks me to play it for him, I'm totally screwed.

Maybe it will come in handy for bashing someone on the head. It never hurts to improvise on missions.

I see a few kids around that I recognize from school. I hope to god that the target picks me up before any of them.

My mind strays back to accidently finding Ouka in that skeezy club when I was cruising for another target. I don't want to go through that again. Nothing's worse than knowing the potential victims.

One of them walks by and literally does a double-take.

"_Omi_?" She says, completely wide-eyed.

Oh hell.

"Hi…Natsuo," I acknowledge her reluctantly.

"I didn't know you were into this stuff!" She all but gushes. I can see the gears turning in her head as she speaks. My name is getting added to party invitations, she'll be after me to join some club….

"I'm…not," my mind races to come up with a convincing excuse. "My friend has a band. I'm just helping him canvas."

"Oh," she says disappointedly. "So…you're not into cosplay or fashion then?"

"No," I say, begging her to decide that makes me boring again and move on. The target could be here already! I scan to try and pick out Ken. He's harder to see than me, his outfit was mostly black.

"What's the name of your band?" She asks, still intensely focused on me. I think she's come into the shop a few times. Stupendous.

"Um…" a million things run through my mind, none of them very appropriate for band names. I finally see Ken leaning against a lamp post down the street. "Siberian Death Watch," I announce desperately.

I wish I hadn't said that.

"That's…kind of morose," she says frowning.

"It's a metal band," I try to explain.

Her eyes drop to the instrument in my hand. "You play metal on an acoustic guitar?"

Oh good grief. "It's all I can afford," I explain quickly. "We're saving up for better equipment."

"Oh," she says, now probably feeling just as awkward as I do. "Well good luck with that. Maybe I'll come see you some time."

_Or Maybe you won't_. I nod, grateful that she seems like she's finally about to leave. "Yeah, that'd be cool."

She gives me a kind of strange smile and waves as she turns to walk away. I wave back and then practically slump with relief when she's finally gone.

_Siberian Death Watch?_ What the hell was I thinking? I know better than to toss about our code names so flippantly.

It's not like Natsuo would ever have a clue in the significance of anything I said. Someone could have been listening though….

I can't help it; all I can think about is Ken.

This is all happening so fast. Everything. Aya and Yohji's disappearance. Our interrupted trip to the beach. Ken's confession that seemed to come out of nowhere…and now a mission that neither one of us was ready to have to deal with. I haven't had time to get my thoughts in order. I hadn't even gotten a chance to get my thoughts in order about Ken yet, and now I already have to worry about losing him. Ken was right about one thing. This really isn't fair.

I should be trying harder to scope out the target. My eyes keep straying back to Ken by the street light.

When Ken told me he liked me I wasn't really sure how I felt. It was totally unexpected. I was surprised how happy it made me. I just reacted on instinct, without letting myself think about it too much. I didn't know if I'd regret that later.

I still wasn't sure exactly how I felt at the beach. But I wasn't exactly regretting it either. I can't remember being as happy as I was yesterday. It was pretty close to perfect until my cell phone rang.

I think I've worked out my feelings now. It still feels too fast, but I know I wouldn't be feeling quite this rattled if there wasn't something real between me and Ken.

I'm _really_ worried. The way we have to dress for this mission doesn't really allow for Ken's bugnuks. I have them stashed in the guitar case. I lent him a few darts and he has a knife hidden in one of his boots. But those aren't what he's used to fighting with. I know he's good at handling himself, but still…. He's handicapped. And we don't have secondary back-up….

I wish Ken's regular weapon was something more concealable, like Yohji's wire. God, I'm worried.

I catch Ken looking back at me and avert my eyes. The surest way for something to go wrong on this mission is if we pay more attention to each other than to the target. We need to focus.

Come on. Focus, focus, focus.

"Trying to get noticed?" I almost jump at the sound of an unfamiliar voice interrupting my thoughts.

I do my best to look like a teenager who's trying to look cool. What the hell, I _am_ a teenager. I don't really feel like a teenager though. I haven't felt like one since…well, _never_. I kinda skipped right from feeling like a kid to feeling like an adult. And I don't really remember the kid part all that well.

I just quirk an eyebrow like I'm too hip for words. I feel kind of stupid.

"I'm a talent scout," continues the man. He's wearing a slick designer pinstripe suit with a retro tie. The overall effect is just a hint snazzier than our usual suited targets. The ones that look like respectable businessmen.

Why do almost all of our targets look like respectable businessmen? It's so depressing. Japan is _full_ of respectable businessmen. It really makes you wonder….

I try to channel Yohji as I slide a pair of narrow pink sunglasses down my nose and give him an inquisitive look. "I'm listening," I say.

"I'm recruiting extras for a movie," he says predictably. "It's a great way to break into an acting career."

"That…sounds like fun," I say in the most languid voice I can muster. "When do I start?"

"Right now," he replies, with a grin that seems so…genuine…it kind of frightens me. "Let's go get you some paperwork, shall we? Follow me."

* * *

I try not to get sick as I stumble across one of the previous victims. Actually, I'm not sure if what I'm looking at is only one victim. It could be more. It's all too mangled to distinguish. And spread out.

I can't let it bother me. It's too late to help whoever this mess used to be. Somewhere in this squirrely apartment complex is a henchman knocking people off. I'm on camera right now. They left this atrocity here to freak me out. Slow me down. Make me easier to pick off. They have no idea I'm trying to do the same thing to them.

I feel something crunch under my foot. Stepping away reveals a blood smeared Hello Kitty barrette.

It makes me think of Shouta for some reason. His parents more specifically.

His panicked, but _lucky_ parents, who got their kid back.

…Unlike many of his classmate's.

I can add another scratch mark to my 'kids Bombay failed to protect' mental tally.

So much for not getting sick.

When I pull myself together again I step back into the hallway and try another door. It's locked. The next one is too. The third one has no power when I try flipping the light switch and it gives me a really bad feeling (as if I didn't already have one.) I always carry a concealable flashlight on missions. Its dim beam makes out a blurry smudge on the wall, higher than a regular person ought to be able to reach. The rest of the room is empty.

I don't want to know.

I shut the door and continue moving down the hall.

The next room I go in seems completely ordinary. It smells like fresh paint. I check the closets and don't find a thing.

I hear footsteps out in the hall.

I plaster myself to the wall and peek past the door frame.

Nothing.

I step out with a dart in each hand and whip my head around, checking every direction as quickly as possible.

_Nothing_.

Where the hell are these guys?

Ken and I both have tracking devices on. Every few minutes I've been checking his location to keep tabs on where he is. He hasn't been covering quite as much ground as I have. When I check this time I notice that he hasn't moved at all since the last time I looked.

That cannot be good.

I don't let myself think about what else it could be, aside from 'not good.'

He's two floors below me. I resist trying to take the elevator to get to him. I know from the mission details that it's probably an empty shaft.

There are no lights in the stairwell. Against my better judgment I run down the stairs anyway.

…right into someone.

With no lights I can't tell if it's a target or one of the victims.

The sensation of something metallic pressing against my clavicle clears that up rather nicely.

Luckily the clumsiness of attacking me in the dark slows my opponent down enough that I'm able to pull a dart on them before they can do much damage. The cut feels shallow, although I don't get a chance to actually look at it.

I don't even bother to look when I have light again. I just run in the direction of Ken.

I only stop when I get to the door that I think is concealing him.

I want to barge through it, but I know better than to be that reckless. There could be an ambush on the other side. It's very likely this is some sort of trap. This whole building is allegedly full of traps.

Or maybe there's nothing on the other side except for Ken.

The target might have just moved on after he….

My knees feel sort of weak all of the sudden.

I'm scared to open the door.

I have to open it. Now. Every second that I stall might be the one that finishes him off.

It swings open easily. It might not have even been fully closed to start with. Someone wanted it opened.

The very first thing that I see is Ken. He's slumped over a table. Not moving. I can't tell if he's unconscious or dead.

_Oh please God, don't let him be dead._

No, he's not dead.

If he were, there'd be no reason for a henchman to be standing over him with an electric drill. There's no blood.

…Yet.

I feel sort of lightheaded as I force myself to pull my eyes off of Ken. Before I do anything I need to check and see if there's anyone else in the room.

And of course there is.

Like I thought for a moment that there wouldn't be.

The target is to my left. Much closer than I expected to find him, predatorily hovering with a second-rate camcorder. I don't pick up a trace of professional filming equipment. Just a weasily looking man with a camera that was probably fished out of some Akihabara discount bin.

"I was waiting for you," the target says, smiling. His voice is still just as disturbingly friendly as when I met him in Harajuku. If I wasn't witnessing with my own eyes that this guy is just as sick as Kritiker reported, it would be hard to believe he was actually the target. He sounds like someone you'd bump into at the library. Or maybe the dad of one of Ken's students. He gestures vaguely at the silent sentinel overshadowing Ken's recumbent form. "It's always more interesting with an audience, you know?" He lets out a snort as if that were some terribly clever joke.

I am not answering that.

"So tell me about yourself, hmm?" He glibly waves at me with the camera. "You two are _friends_, yeah?"

There's a hint of smugness in the way he pronounces the word 'friends.' Like he knows more than he's letting on.

He doesn't turn off the camera before speaking. I wonder how good he is at editing, or if he just doesn't care if he catches incriminating traces himself on film. He's probably got important friends somewhere bolstering his cockiness. It seems to be a trend with these guys. If they weren't untouchable, the police would be doing my job for me.

"I could tell when I cast you. I have an instinct for casting interesting subjects. It's what makes my films such a hit. You two just _exuded_ interest."

I have a dart in my right hand, hidden beneath the cuff of my exaggerated sleeve. I'm gripping it so tightly it's going to leave a mark on my palm.

Does the target have a weapon, or just the camera? Do I hit him first? Or the man threatening Ken?

Am I about to kill Ken with a wrong decision?

He lifts a finger and quirks it. His gesticulation is met with the shrill whine of the drill switching on.

The man holding it doesn't flinch. There isn't a hint of movement beyond hitting the on switch. He's more of a piece of equipment than an actor in what this freak is trying to pass for a movie.

You know…there's this old man that sometimes brings in bonsai for us to sell in the flower shop. He grows them himself. One time a few months ago he set up a demonstration for customers who wanted to learn his techniques.

He used a drill exactly like that when he shaped the dead wood into gnarly features on the tanuki trees.

Weird where your mind will drift in panicky situations.

The 'film director' puts his other hand up in a stopping motion. "Wait," he announces, smirking. "Wake him up. There's no artistic merit in doing this without catching his reaction. That's the whole point."

My heart is frozen somewhere between relief that Ken apparently _can_ be woken up, and utter horror at the direction his seems to be going in.

The dart is shaking. It takes me a moment to register that it's actually my fingers shaking, not the dart.

Without bothering to switch off his power tool, the henchman produces a small syringe and deftly stabs Ken with it before I really get a chance to react.

I'm dizzy with panic. The air quality in the room seems to be getting progressively thicker and more caustic, although the other occupants don't appear affected. I guess it's just me.

I've never panicked on a mission before.

Ken's eyes slowly slide open, although they don't look entirely focused. His body remains inert.

Why isn't he moving?

It's not like Ken not to struggle. He hasn't made eye contact with me. I don't think he knows I'm here.

The silent one holds the drill up to Ken's head and grins. He then moves it, ghosting it across Ken's body, as if he can't make up his mind which appendage is in most urgent need of acquiring a hole.

"Where first?" The cameraman asks, over the surprisingly quiet hum of the drill.

Ken's eyes go wide and he suddenly seems to be more alert. He remains completely stationary though. I guess whatever drug they gave him only revived his consciousness. He's still physically incapacitated.

"I'll cut you a deal, you know," the target adds, somewhat gleefully. "If you tell him where to drill, I'll make _your_ death far less painful. If you drill your friend here yourself, I'll let you walk out of this alive."

Is he fucking kidding me?

"No?" he laughs when I don't answer him. "Well, that just means I get to make this more interesting. We'll start somewhere conveniently expendable." He makes another signal to the henchman, which I find indecipherable. "Work our way to the more vital from there. It'll give you time to reconsider the offer while you enjoy the show and wait for your turn."

He's walking towards Ken as he talks, maneuvering the lens to get a close-up of Ken's horrified face. He must not see me as any kind of threat at all. I suppose he thinks that if I react it won't amount to much more than spontaneous footage.

The drill stops to rest about an inch above Ken's hand. The wielder doesn't get a chance to lower it before one of my darts sinks into his throat. Quickly followed by a second one silencing the cameraman.

Well. I might have stilled the hand holding the drill. But unfortunately, gravity takes care of the lowering bit.

I know better, but I can't stop myself from screaming out Ken's name.


End file.
